THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


"} 
Wldu 


SEVENTY   YEARS   OF   IRISH   LIFE 


-*- 


SEVENTY    TEARS    OF 
IRISH    LIFE 


BEING 

ANECDOTES  AND  REMINISCENCES 


BY 

W.   R.   LE   FANU 


gorfe 
MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND      LONDON 
1894 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYBIGHT,  1893, 

BY  MACMILLAN  AND   CO. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped  October,  1893.     Reprinted 
January,  March,  1894. 


Norfaooto 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  — Berwick  &  Smith. 
Boston,  Mass..  U.S.A. 


Collegg 
Library 


TO  HER 

WHOSE    LOVE     AND    GOODNESS 

HAVE   MADE    MY   LIFE 
THE    HAPPY   ONE    IT    HAS    BEEN 

Co  fflg  ORite 

WITH   GRATEFUL   HEART 
I     DEDICATE     THIS     BOOK 


2061109 


PREFACE 


IT  requires  no  ordinary  amount  of  courage,  even  in  an 
author  of  established  fame,  to  come  before  the  public 
when  he  has  long  passed  the  age  of  three  score  years 
and  ten;  yet  here  am  I,  who  never  wrote  a  line  for 
publication  and  never  meant  to  do  so,  daring  to  make 
my  first  attempt  in  my  eight-and-seveiitieth  year.  I 
should  not  have  had  the  courage  to  venture  on  such  an 
undertaking  had  I  not  been  urged  by  literary  friends 
(who  ought  to  have  known  better)  to  jot  down  some 
recollections  of  my  earlier  days,  and  to  publish  some  of 
the  Irish  stories  which  from  time  to  time  in  my  long 
life  I  have  heard. 

In  politics  I  have  never  taken  any  part,  and  I  have 
tried,  I  hope  successfully,  to  keep  clear  of  them  in  what 
I  have  written. 

I  trust  I  have  said  nothing  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  any 
of  my  fellow-countrymen,  and  I  leave  it  to  a  generous 
public  to  pardon  the  many  faults  and  shortcomings  of 
my  first  and  only  book. 

W.  E.    LE   FANU. 

SUMMERHILL,  ENNISKERBT, 

October,  1893. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   I 

PAGE 

Early  days  —  A  royal  visit  to  Ireland  in  1820  :  Grattan's  wit- 
ticism —  A  maid  for  a  dog  —  A  disciple  of  Isaak  Walton 
as  preceptor  —  Sheridan  Le  Fanu's  youthful  verses  and 
relaxations  —  A  parrot  at  prayers ;  and  a  monkey  with 
the  parrot 1 

CHAPTER  II 

Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald's  dagger  —  United  Irishmen :  the 
apologia  of  John  Sheares  —  Doctor  Dobbin's  kind  deeds  — 
The  story  of  the  Ilchester  oak  —  An  outlaw  sportsman : 
his  narrow  escape  and  sad  ending 17 

CHAPTER   III 

Faction  fights  :  the  Reaskawallahs  and  Coff eys  —  Paternal 
chastisement  —  A  doctor  in  livery  —  I  bear  the  Olive 
branch  —  Battles  of  the  bury  ings  —  Dead  men's  shoes  — 
Fairy  Doctors :  their  patient  spoils  a  coachman's  toggery 
—  Superstitions  about  birds  ......  33 

CHAPTER   IV 

Good  will  of  the  peasantry  before  1831 — A  valentine  —  A 
justice's  bulls  —  A  curious  sight  indeed  —  Farms  to  grow 
fat  on  —  Some  cooks  —  "What  the  Dean  wears  on  his 
legs" — Blood-thirsty  gratitude  —  Old  servants  and  their 
theories  44 


x  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   V 

PAGE 

The  tithe  war  of  1831 :  the  troops  come  to  our  village  —  A 
marked  man  —  "  Push  on ;  they  are  going  to  kill  ye  ! " 
Not  his  brother's  keeper — Boycotting  in  the  thirties  — 
None  so  dead  as  he  looked  —  Lord  Cloncurry's  manifesto 

—  A  fulfilled  prophecy 58 

CHAPTER   VI 

The  pleasures  of  coaching  —  I  enter  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin 

—  A  miser  Fellow :  Anecdotes  about  —  Whately,  Arch- 
bishop of  Dublin,  and  his  legs  —  The  vocative  of  cut  — 
Charles  Lever's  retort  —  Courteous  to  the  Bishop      .        .      72 

CHAPTER  VII 

The  "  Charleys'  "  life  was  not  a  pleasant  one  —  Paddy  O'Neill 
and  his  rhymes  —  "  With  my  rigatooria"  —Too  far  west 
to  wash  —  On  the  coast  at  Kilkee  —  ' '  Phaudrig  Crohoore ' ' 

—  The  Dublin  Magazine BO 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Peasant  life  after  the  famine  of  1847  —  An  aged  goose  —  Su- 
perstitions and  Irish  peculiarities  —  The  worship  of  Baal 

—  The  Blarney  stone  —  The  wren  boys  —  The  direful 
"  Wurrum  "  — A  remedy  for  the  chin  cough,  and  doctors' 
remedies 106 

CHAPTER  IX 

Mitchclstown  remembered  —  A  Night  on  the  Galtees  —  The 
weird  horse  —  Killing,  or  murder  ?  —  The  ballad  of  "  Sha- 
mus  O'Brien"  —  A  letter  from  Samuel  Lover  .  .  .  126 

CHAPTER   X 

A  determined  duel  —  I  act  the  peasant,  and  am  selected  for 
the  police  force  —  Death  of  my   sister  —  Sketch  of  my 
brother's  life  —  Dan  O'Connell's  "  Illustrious  Kinsman  "• 
A  murderous  Grand  Jury  — A  sad  reflection     .        .        .141 


CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER   XI 

PAOE 

The  power  of  the  people  —  Sergeant  Murphy  ;  his  London 
manners  —  Pat  Costello's  humour  —  I  meet  Thackeray  — 
Paddy  Blake's  echo  —  Dan  O'Connell's  imagination  —  Sir 
James  O'Connell's  anecdotes  —  He  is  prayed  for  by  his 
herd 157 

CHAPTER   XII 

A  proselytizing  clergyman  —  Some  examples  of  religious  intol- 
erance—  An  inverse  repentance  —  The  true  faith  —  The 
railway  mania — Famine  of  1846  —  Mrs.  Norton  solves  a 
difficulty  —  The  old  Beefsteak  Club  —  A  pleasant  dinner- 
party ...........  170 

CHAPTER   XIII 

Smith  O'Brien's  rebellion — Louis  Philippe's  interview  with 
the  Queen,  as  seen  by  the  Boy  Jones  —  Plain  fare  and 
pleasant  —  Married  by  mistake  —  A  time  for  everything 
—  A  pagan  altar-piece  —  Drawing  the  long-bow  —  Proof 
against  cross-examination  —  Fooling  the  English — Lar- 
ceny, or  trespass  ? 183 

CHAPTER    XIV 

Anthony  Trollope  :  his  night  encounter  —  A  race  for  life  on 
an  engine  —  Railway  adventures  —  I  become  Commissioner 
of  Public  Works  —  Some  Irish  repartees  and  ready  car- 
drivers  —  Rail  against  road  —  No  cause  for  uneasiness  .  204 

CHAPTER   XV 

Tory  Island :  its  king,  customs,  and  captive  —  William  Dar- 
gan  :  his  career  and  achievements  —  Agricultural  and  in- 
dustrial experiments  —  Bianconi,  the  carman  —  Sheridan 
Knowles  :  his  absence  of  mind  —  Absent-minded  gentle- 
men —  Legal  complications  —  Judges  and  barristers  — 
Lord  Xorbury .  .219 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   XVI 

PAOE 

Irish  bulls  —  Sayings  of  Sir  Boyle  Roche  —  Plutarch's  Lives 

—  A  Grand  Jury's  decision  —  Clerical  anecdotes  and  bib- 
lical difficulties  —  A  harmless  lunatic  —  Dangerous  recruits 

—  Tom  Burke  —  Some  memorials  to  the  Board  of  Works    240 

CHAPTER   XVII 

Shooting  and  fishing  —  Good  snipe  grounds  —  Killarney  and 
Powerscourt  —  My  fishing  record  —  Playing  a  rock  —  Sal- 
mon flies  —  Salmon  and  trout  —  Grattan's  favourites  — 
Hooking  a  bird  —  Fishing  anecdotes  —  Lord  Spencer's  ad- 
venture   256 

CHAPTER   XVIII 

Getting  a  reward  —  Illicit  stills  —  Poteen  —  Past  and  present 

—  Dress  and  dwellings  —  Marriage  and  language.  —  Mate- 
rial improvement  since  1850 290 

CHAPTER   XIX 

The  science  of  hypnotism  —  Early  experiments  and  lessons  — 
A  drink  of  cider  —  I  convert  Isaac  Butt  —  All  wrong — A 
dangerous  power 301 

CHAPTER   XX 

Catholic  Emancipation,  1829  — The  tithe  war  of  1832  — The 
great  famine  of  1846  —  The  Fenian  Agitation  of  1865  — 
France  against  England — Land-Hunger — Crime  and  com- 
bination—  Last  words  .  311 


SEVENTY   YEARS    OF   IRISH   LIFE 


CHAPTEE  I 

Early  days  —  A  royal  visit  to  Ireland  in  1821 :  Grattan's  witti- 
cism—  A  maid  for  a  dog  —  A  disciple  of  Isaak  Walton  as 
preceptor — Sheridan  Le  Fanu's  youthful  verses  and  relaxa- 
tions—  A  parrot  at  prayers ;  and  a  monkey  with  the  parrot. 

I  WAS  born  on  the  24th  of  February,  1816,  at  the 
Koyal  Hibernian  Military  School  in  the  Phoenix 
Park,  Dublin ;  my  father  being  then  chaplain  to  that 
institution.  I  was  the  youngest  of  three  children  — 
the  eldest  was  Catherine  Francis ;  the  second,  Joseph 
Sheridan,  author  of  "  Uncle  Silas  "  and  other  novels, 
and  of  "  Shamus  O'Brien  "  and  other  Irish  ballads. 

Here  the  first  ten  years  of  my  life  were  spent  in 
as  happy  a  home  as  boy  could  have.  Never  can  I 
forget  our  rambles  through  that  lovely  park,  the 
delight  we  took  in  the  military  reviews,  sham  fights, 
and  races  held  near  the  school,  not  to  mention  the 
intense  interest  and  awe  inspired  by  the  duels  occa- 
sionally fought  there.  The  usual  time  for  these  hos- 
tile meetings  was  at  or  soon  after  daybreak.  I  only 
saw  one,  which  from  some  cause  or  other  took  place 


2  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

at  a  later  hour ;  four  shots  were  fired,  after  which  a 
reconciliation  took  place.  On  more  than  one  such 
occasion  ray  father  acted  as  peacemaker,  and  found 
that  the  cause  of  quarrel  was  something  trivial  and 
ridiculous;  except  by  him,  there  was  seldom  any 
interference  with  these  combats.  I  shall  give  pres- 
ently an  account  of  one  of  the  last  duels  in  Ireland, 
fought  about  twenty  years  later. 

At  an  early  age  my  brother  gave  promise  of  the 
powers  which  he  afterwards  attained.  When  be- 
tween five  and  six  years  old  a  favourite  amusement 
of  his  was  to  draw  little  pictures,  and  under  each  he 
would  print  some  moral  which  the  drawing  was 
meant  to  illustrate.  I  well  remember  one  which  I 
specially  admired  and  looked  upon  as  a  masterpiece 
of  art,  conveying  a  solemn  warning.  A  balloon  was 
high  in  air ;  the  two  aeronauts  had  fallen  from  the 
boat,  and  were  tumbling  headlong  to  the  ground ; 
underneath  was  printed  in  fine  bold  Koman  let- 
ters, "  See  the  effects  of  trying  to  go  to  heaven." 
He  composed  little  songs  also,  which  he  very  sweetly 
sang,  and  some  old  people  can  still  recall  his  wonder- 
ful acting  as  a  mere  boy  in  our  juvenile  theatricals. 

One  of  my  earliest  recollections  is  of  the  rejoicings, 
illuminations,  and  reviews  that  took  place  on  the 
accession  of  George  IV.  to  the  throne  in  1820,  and 
the  excitement  caused  by  his  visit  to  Ireland  in  1821. 
Royal  journeys  were  not  in  those  days  carried  out 


A   ROYAL    VISIT  3 

with  the  ease  and  celerity  with  which  they  are  now 
performed.  The  king's  departure  from  London,  en 
route  for  Dublin,  is  thus  described  in  the  Annual 
Register :  — 

"  About  half-past  eleven  o'clock  his  Majesty  left 
his  palace  in  Pall  Mall  on  his  way  to  Ireland.  His 
Majesty  went  in  his  plain  dark  travelling  carriage, 
attended  by  Lord  Graves,  as  the  lord-in-waiting, 
escorted  by  a  party  of  the  14th  Light  Dragoons. 
The  king  proceeded  as  far  as  Kingston  with  his  own 
horses,  and  from  thence  to  Portsmouth  with  post- 
horses.  His  Majesty  was  to  embark  and  dine  on 
board  the  royal  yacht." 

I  saw  his  state  entrance  into  Dublin  from  the 
balcony  of  my  grandfather's  house  in  Eccles  Street, 
through  which  the  procession  passed  on  its  way  from 
Howth,  where  the  king  had  landed.  His  Majesty 
was  seated  in  an  open  carriage  drawn  by  eight 
splendid  horses,  and  attended  by  a  number  of  grooms 
and  footmen  in  magnificent  liveries.  He  was  in 
military  uniform,  and  constantly  took  off  his  hat 
and  smiled  and  bowed  gracefully  to  the  people, 
who  enthusiastically  cheered  him.  It  was  told  that 
a  man  in  the  crowd  close  to  the  carriage  stretched 
out  his  hand  to  the  king,  saying,  "  Shake  hands, 
your  Majesty."  The  king  at  once  gave  him  a 
hearty  shake  by  the  hand.  The  man  then  waved 
his  hand,  and  called  out,  "  Begorra,  I'll  never  wash 


4  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

that  hand  again ! "  The  king  ended  a  speech  which 
he  made  to  the  people  from  the  steps  of  the  Vice- 
regal Lodge  in  the  following  words :  —  "  This  is  one 
of  the  happiest  days  of  my  life.  I  have  long  wished 
to  visit  you;  my  heart  has  always  been  Irish. 
From  the  day  it  first  beat  I  have  loved  Ireland. 
This  day  has  shown  me  that  I  am  beloved  by  my 
Irish  subjects.  Rank,  station,  honours  are  nothing ; 
but  to  feel  that  I  live  in  the  hearts  of  my  Irish 
subjects  is  to  me  the  most  exalted  happiness.  I 
must  once  more  thank  you  for  your  kindness,  and 
bid  you  farewell.  Go,  and  do  by  me  as  I  shall  do 
by  you  —  drink  my  health  in  a  bumper.  I  shall 
drink  all  yours  in  a  bumper  of  Irish  whisky." 
There  was  a  grand  review  in  the  Phoenix  Park,  at 
which  I  well  remember  some  of  the  infantry  regi- 
ments still  wore  white  knee-breeches  and  long  black 
gaiters,  and  nearly  all  of  them  very  tall  shakos, 
broad  at  the  top,  from  which  rose  long  feathers, 
some  red  and  white,  some  white.  After  a  stay  of 
about  three  weeks  in  Ireland,  the  king  embarked 
for  England  at  Dunleary,  then  little  more  than  a 
fishing  village,  but  now,  under  its  new  name  "  Kings- 
town," which  George  IY.  then  gave  it,  one  of  the 
most  flourishing  towns  in  Ireland.  It  was  eight 
and  twenty  years  before  Ireland  was  again  visited 
by  an  English  sovereign. 

The    enthusiasm   awakened    by   the    king's    visit 


EXCHANGE  NO  ROBBERY  5 

soon  subsided,  and  ere  long  he  was  no  more  popular 
than  he  had  been  before.  Grattan  it  was  who  said 
that  "  the  Irish  abused  him  in  every  possible  shape. 
First,  they  abused  his  person,  of  which  he  is  very 
vain;  secondly,  they  abused  his  mistress,  of  whom 
he  is  very  fond ;  and  not  content  with  all  that,  they 
praised  his  own  wife." 

It  was  shortly  after  the  time  I  have  been  speak- 
ing of  that  I  met  with  a  rather  serious  accident, 
owing  to  my  desire  to  become  possessor  of  a  learned 
dog.  I  was  about  five  years  old,  and,  with  the 
children's  maid,  Maria  "Walsh,  who  took  care  of  me, 
happened  to  be  in  our  stable-yard  when  the  coach- 
man of  Colonel  Spottiswoode,  the  Commandant  of 
the  Hibernian  School,  came  into  the  yard  on  some 
message.  He  had  with  him  a  handsome  red  spaniel, 
which  knew  a  great  number  of  tricks,  all  of  which 
the  coachman  made  him  perform  for  me.  I  was 
astonished  and  delighted,  and  said,  "  Oh,  how  I 
wish  I  had  a  dog  like  that !  I'd  give  anything  for 
a  dog  like  that."  "  Then,"  said  the  man,  "  you  can 
easily  have  him.  Give  me  Maria,  and  I'll  give  you 
the  dog:"  "  Oh,  I'm  so  glad ! "  I  said.  "  Take  her, 
take  her,  and  give  me  the  darling  dog."  He  put 
the  dog's  chain  into  my  hand,  took  the  girl  on  his 
arm,  and  walked  with  her  out  of  the  yard  gate. 
No  sooner  had  they  disappeared  than  it  repented 
me  of  what  I  had  done.  I  burst  into  floods  of  tears, 


6  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

and  shouted,  "  Come  back,  come  back !  Take  your 
nasty  dog,  and  give  me  back  my  own  Maria." 
Getting  no  answer,  I  dropped  the  dog's  chain,  and 
ran  after  the  pair  as  hard  as  I  could  run ;  as  I  came 
to  the  gate  I  tripped  and  fell.  I  was  stunned,  and 
my  forehead  was  cut  open  on  the  sharp  spud  stone. 
The  coachman  and  maid  carried  me  into  the  kitchen. 
My  sister  saw  them  carrying  me  in,  from  a  window, 
and  ran  down  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  She 
found  me  with  my  face  covered  with  blood,  ran  to 
the  drawing-room,  and,  not  wishing  to  frighten  her 
mother,  called  her  father  out.  "  Oh,  papa,"  she 
said,  "  there's  poor  little  Willie  in  the  kitchen ;  and 
I  think  his  eye  is  hanging  down  on  his  cheek ! "  I 
wasn't,  however,  so  bad  as  all  that ;  but,  in  addition 
to  a  bad  cut,  there  was  a  slight  fracture  of  the 
frontal  bone,  and  there  is  still  a  hollow  where  it 
was  broken.  I  never  tried  to  part  with  Maria  again. 
She  did  not  marry  the  coachman.  What  became  of 
him  I  know  not ;  but  she  never  left  me  till  live 
and  fifty  years  after,  when  she  died  in  my  house  at 
the  age  of  seventy-five.  She  was  one  of  the  girls 
brought  up  at  the  Hibernian  Military  School,  where 
there  were  then  two  hundred  soldiers'  daughters, 
as  well  as  four  hundred  boys;  now  the  institution 
is  exclusively  for  boys.  Most  of  these  boys  become 
soldiers;  their  uniform,  their  drill,  their  band,  as 
well  as  the  recollection  of  what  their  fathers  are,  or 


MY  PRECEPTOR  7 

were,  makes  them  long  for  a  military  career.  Not 
the  least  pretty  and  interesting  part  of  a  review  in 
the  Phoenix  Park,  on  the  Queen's  Birthday,  is  to  see 
these  little  fellows  march  past ;  and  how  well  they 
march  past,  led  on  by  their  band  playing  the 
"  British  Grenadiers ! "  From  early  associations  it 
is  to  me  a  very  touching  sight. 

In  the  year  1826,  my  father  having  been  appointed 
Dean  of  Emly  and  Rector  of  Abington,  we  left  Dub- 
lin to  live  at  Abington,  in  the  county  of  Limerick. 
Here  our  education,  except  in  French  and  English, 
which  our  father  taught  us,  was  entrusted  to  a  pri- 
vate tutor,  an  elderly  clergyman,  Stinson  by  name, 
who  let  us  learn  just  as  much,  or  rather  as  little,  as 
we  pleased.  For  several  hours  every  day  this  old 
gentleman  sat  with  us  in  the  schoolroom,  when  he 
was  supposed  to  be  engaged  in  teaching  us  classic 
lore,  and  invigorating  our  young  minds  by  science ; 
but  being  an  enthusiastic  disciple  of  old  Isaak,  he  in 
reality  spent  the  whole,  or  nearly  the  whole,  time  in 
tying  flies  for  trout  or  salmon  and  in  arranging  his 
fishing  gear,  which  he  kept  in  a  drawer  before  him. 
Soon  after  he  had  come  to  us,  he  had  wisely  taken 
the  precaution  of  making  us  learn  by  heart  several 
passages  from  Greek  and  Latin  authors ;  and  when- 
ever our  father's  step  was  heard  to  approach  the 
schoolroom,  the  flies  were  nimbly  thrown  into  the 
drawer,  and  the  old  gentleman  in  his  tremulous 


8  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

and  nasal  voice,  would  say,  "Now,  Joseph,  repeat 
that  ode  of  Horace,"  or  "  William,  go  on  with  that 
dialogue  of  Lucian."  These  passages  we  never  for- 
got, and  though  more  than  sixty  years  have  passed, 
I  can  repeat  as  glibly  as  then  the  dialogue  beginning, 
*n  Trdrep  ola  ireirovda,  and  others.  As  soon  as  our 
father's  step  was  heard  to  recede,  "  That  will  do," 
said  our  preceptor;  the  drawer  was  reopened,  and 
he  at  once  returned,  with  renewed  vigour,  to  his  pis- 
catory preparations,  and  we  to  our  games.  Fortu- 
nately my  father's  library  was  a  large  and  good  one ; 
there  my  brother  spent  much  of  his  time  in  poring 
over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume.  As  for 
me,  under  the  guidance  and  instructions  of  our 
worthy  tutor,  I  took  too  ardently  to  fishing  to  care 
much  for  anything  else.  I  still  profit  by  those 
early  lessons.  I  can  to-day  tie  a  trout  or  salmon 
fly  as  well  as  most  men. 

The  appearance  of  our  venerable  preceptor  was 
peculiar.  His  face  was  red,  his  hair  snow-white  ;  he 
wore,  twice-folded  round  his  neck  (as  the  fashion 
then  was),  a  very  high  white  cravat ;  his  body  was 
enclosed  in  a  bottle-green  frock  coat,  the  skirts  of 
which  were  unusually  long;  a  pair  of  black  knee- 
breeches  and  grey  stockings  completed  his  costume. 
In  addition  to  his  other  accomplishments  he  was  a 
great  performer  on  the  Irish  bagpipes,  and  often 
after  lessons  would  cheer  us  with  an  Irish  air,  and 


MY  PRECEPTOR  9 

sometimes  with  an  Irish  song.  But,  alas !  how  fleet- 
ing are  all  earthly  joys  ;  our  happy  idle  days  with 
our  reverend  friend  were  soon  to  cease.  My  father 
found  that  we  were  learning  absolutely  nothing, 
and  discovered,  moreover,  some  serious  delinquen- 
cies on  the  part  of  the  old  gentleman,  who  was  sum- 
marily dismissed  in  disgrace.  For  some  years  we 
did  not  know  what  had  become  of  him,  and  then 
heard  that  he  had  become  a  violent  Kepealer,  and 
sometimes  marched,  playing  party  tunes  on  the 
pipes,  at  the  head  of  O'Connell's  processions.  The 
Repealers  were  of  course  delighted  to  have  a  Protes- 
tant clergyman,  no  matter  how  disreputable,  in  their 
ranks. 

In  his  old  age  our  quondam  tutor  led,  I  fear,  a 
far  from  reputable  life  in  Dublin.  I  never  saw  him 
but  once  again.  It  was  many  years  after  he  had 
left  us ;  and  oh,  what  a  falling  off  was  there !  I 
beheld  my  friend,  whom  I  had  known  as  the  prince 
of  anglers  for  trout  and  salmon,  sitting,  meanly 
clad,  on  the  bank  of  the  river  Liffe}7,  close  to 
Dublin,  engaged  in  the  ignoble  sport  of  bobbing  for 
eels. 

When  scarcely  fifteen  years  of  age  my  brother 
Joseph  had  written  many  pieces  of  poetry,  which 
showed  a  depth  of  imagination  and  feeling  unusual 
in  a  boy  at  that  age.  The  following  are  extracts 
from  some  of  them  I  have  preserved,  and  which,  I 


io  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

think,  show  remarkable  talent  for  a  boy  of  fifteen 
years  of  age :  — 

"  Oh,  lovely  moon,  so  bright  and  so  serene, 

Rolling  thy  silver  disc  so  silently, 
Full  many  an  ardent  lover's  eye,  I  ween, 

Rests  on  thy  waning  crescent  pensively ; 
And  many  an  aged  eye  is  fixed  on  thee 

That  seeks  to  read  the  hidden  things  of  fate  ; 
And  many  a  captive  pining  to  be  free, 

Welcomes  thy  lustre  through  his  prison  gate, 
And  feels  while  in  thy  beam  not  quite  so  desolate. 

"  There  is  an  hour  of  sadness  all  have  known, 

That  weighs  upon  the  heart  we  scarce  know  why ; 
We  feel  unfriended,  cheerless  and  alone, 

We  ask  no  other  pleasure  but  to  sigh, 
And  muse  on  days  of  happiness  gone  by  : 

A  painful  lonely  pleasure  which  imparts 
A  calm  regret,  a  deep  serenity, 

That  soothes  the  rankling  of  misfortune's  darts, 
And  kindly  lends  a  solace  even  to  broken  hearts." 

INTRODUCTION  TO  O'DONOGHUE  — AN  UNFIN- 
ISHED POEM 

"  Muse  of  green  Erin  !   break  thine  icy  slumbers, 

Wake  yet  again  thy  wreathed  lyre ; 
Burst  forth  once  more  to  strike  thy  tuneful  numbers, 

Kindle  again  thy  long  extinguished  fire. 
Long  hast  thou  slept  amid  thy  country's  sorrow, 

Darkly  thou  set'st  amid  thy  country's  woes ; 
Dawn  yet  again  to  cheer  a  gloomy  morrow, 

Break  with  the  spell  of  song  thy  long  repose. 


EARLY  VERSES   OF  MY  BROTHER  n 

Why  should  I  bid  thee,  Muse  of  Erin,  waken  V 

Why  should  I  bid  thee  strike  thy  harp  once  more  ? 
Better  to  leave  thee  silent  and  forsaken, 

Than  wake  thee  but  thy  glory  to  deplore. 
How  could  I  bid  thee  tell  of  Tara's  towers, 

Where  once  thy  sceptred  princes  sat  in  state, 
Where  rose  thy  music  at  the  festal  hours 

Through  the  proud  halls  where  listening  thousands  sat  V 
Fallen  thy  fair  castles,  past  thy  princes'  glory ; 

Thy  tuneful  bards  were  banished  or  were  slain ; 
Some  rest  in  glory,  in  their  death-beds  gory, 

And  some  have  lived  to  feel  a  foeman's  chain. 
Yet  for  the  sake  of  thine  unhappy  nation, 

Yet  for  the  sake  of  Freedom's  spirit  dead, 
Teach  thy  wild  harp  to  thrill  with  indignation, 

Peal  a  deep  requiem  on  her  sons  that  bled. 
Yes,  like  the  farewell  breath  of  evening  sighing, 

Sweep  thy  cold  hand  its  silent  strings  along, 
Flash  like  the  lamp  beside  the  hero  dying, 

Then  hushed  for  ever  be  thy  plaintive  song." 

FROM  THE  SAME 

"  I  saw  my  home  again  at  that  soft  hour 
When  evening  weeps  for  the  departed  day, 
And  sheds  her  pensive  tears  on  tree  and  flower, 
And  sighs  her  sorrow  through  the  brooklet's  spray ; 
When  the  sweet  thrush  pours  forth  his  vesper  lay, 
When  slumber  closes  every  graceful  bell, 
And  the  declining  sun's  last  lingering  ray 
Seems  to  the  fading  hills  to  bid  farewell; 
And  as  I  looked  on  this  fair  scene  the  big  tears  fell." 

He  let  no  one  see  these  poems  but  his  mother,  his 
sister,  and  myself.     Whether  he  feared  his  father's 


12  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

criticism  I  cannot  tell,  but  he  never  let  him  see 
them ;  still,  he  certainly  had  no  great  dread  of  my 
father,  for  whenever  he  had  incurred  his  displeasure 
he  would  at  once  disarm  him  by  some  witty  saying. 
One  thing  that  much  distressed  the  Dean  was  his 
being  habitually  late  for  prayers.  One  morning 
breakfast  was  nearly  over  and  he  had  not  appeared ; 
and  when  he  at  last  came  in  it  was  near  ten 
o'clock.  My  father,  holding  his  watch  in  his  hand, 
said  in  his  severest  voice,  "  I  ask  you,  Joseph, 
I  ask  you  seriously,  is  this  right?"  "No,  sir," 
said  Joe,  glancing  at  the  watch  ;  "  I'm  sure  it  must 
be  fast." 

Practical  jokes,  I  am  glad  to  say,  are  seldom  prac- 
tised now,  but  in  my  early  days  they  were  much  in 
vogue.  Here  is  one  my  brother  played  on  me  :  —  I 
was  in  Dublin,  and  had  a  long  letter  from  my  father, 
who  was  at  home  at  Abington,  giving  me  several 
commissions.  In  a  postscript,  he  said,  "  Send  me 
immediately  '  Dodd's  Holy  Curate.'  If  Curry  has 
not  got  it  you  will  be  sure  to  get  it  at  some  other 
booksellers' ;  but  be  sure  to  send  it,  if  possible,  by 
return  of  post."  Curry  had  it  not ;  in  vain  I  sought 
it  at  other  booksellers',  so  I  wrote  to  my  father  to 
say  that  it  was  not  to  be  had  in  Dublin,  and  that 
Curry  did  not  know  the  book,  but  had  written  to  his 
publishers  in  London  to  send  it  direct  to  Abington. 
By  return  of  post  I  had  a  letter  from  my  father 


PRACTICAL   JOKES  13 

saying  he  was  utterly  at  a  loss  to  know  what  1 
meant,  that  he  had  never  asked  me  to  get  him 
"  Dodd's  Holy  Curate,"  and  had  never  known  of  the 
existence  of  such  a  book.  There  is,  in  fact,  no  such 
book.  What  had  happened  was  this :  my  father  had 
gone  out  of  the  library  for  a  few  minutes,  and  had 
left  his  letter  to  me,  which  he  had  just  finished,  open 
on  his  writing-table ;  Joseph  had  gone  into  the 
library  and  took  the  opportunity  of  my  father's 
absence  to  add  the  postscript,  exactly  imitating  his 
writing,  and  on  his  return  my  father  duly  folded 
the  letter  and  sent  it  to  the  post  without  having 
perceived  my  brother's  addition  to  it. 

Another,  not  so  harmless  —  but  boys  are  mis- 
chievous—  he  played  on  an  elderly  woman,  whom 
he  met  near  Dublin,  when  he  was  staying  on  a  visit 
with  some  friends.  He  had  never  seen  the  woman 
before,  and  never  saw  her  after ;  but  she  looked  at 
him  as  if  she  recognized  him,  stopped  and  stood 
before  him  looking  earnestly  at  his  face,  when  the 
following  dialogue  ensued  :  — 

Woman.  "  Oh,  then,  Masther  Kichard,  is  that 
yourself  ? " 

Joseph.  "  Of  course  it  is  myself.  Who  else  should 
I  be?" 

Woman.  "  Ah,  then,  Masther  Richard,  it's  proud 
I  am  to  see  you.  I  hardly  knew  you  at  first,  you're 
grown  so  much.  Ah,  but  it's  long  since  I  seen  any 


14  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

of  the  family.  And  how  is  the  mistress  and  all  the 
family?" 

Joseph.  "All  quite  well,  thank  you.  But  why 
don't  you  ever  come  to  see  us  ? " 

Woman.  "  Ah,  Masther  Richard,  don't  you  know 
I  daren't  face  the  house  since  that  affair  ? " 

Joseph.  "  Don't  you  know  that  is  all  forgotten 
and  forgiven  long  ago  ?  My  mother  and  all  would 
be  delighted  to  see  you." 

Woman.  "  If  I  knew  that,  I'd  have  been  up  to  the 
house  long  ago." 

Joseph.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do  —  come  up  on 
Sunday  to  dinner  with  the  servants.  You  know  the 
hour ;  and  you  will  be  surprised  at  the  welcome  you 
will  get." 

Woman.  "Well,  please  God,  I  will,  Masther 
Richard.  Good-bye,  Masther  Richard,  and  God 
bless  you." 

What  sort  of  welcome  the  old  lady  (she  had  very 
probably  been  dismissed  for  stealing  silver  spoons) 
received  on  her  arrival  on  the  following  Sunday  has 
not  transpired ;  but  I  dare  say  she  was  "  surprised  " 
at  it. 

One  morning,  about  this  time,  our  family  prayers 
were  interrupted  in  a  comical  way.  A  Captain  and 
Mrs.  Druid  were  staying  with  us  for  a  few  weeks. 
Having  no  child,  their  affections  centred  in  a  grey 
parrot,  which  they  dearly  loved,  and  on  whose 


PARROT  AND  MONKEY  15 

education  most  of  their  time  was  spent.  And  truly 
he  was  a  wonderful  bird.  Amongst  his  other 
accomplishments,  he  sang  "  God  save  the  King "  in 
perfect  tune  ;  but  he  never  could  get  beyond  "  happy 
and  glorious."  The  last  word  seemed  so  to  tickle  his 
fancy,  that  he  couldn't  finish  it,  but  went  on  singing 
"happy  and  glori-ori-ori-ori-ori-ori."  He  would  also 
say,  "  Have  you  dined  ?  Yes,  sir.  And  on  what  ? 
Roast  beef,  sir."  Or,  "As-tu  dejeune,  mon  petit 
Coco?  Oui,  monsieur.  Et  de  quoi?  Macaroni, 
monsieur." 

For  fear  of  accidents,  he  was  not  allowed  into 
the  breakfast-room  till  after  prayers.  One  morning, 
however,  by  some  mischance,  he  was  there ;  but 
behaved  with  becoming  decorum  until  prayers  were 
nearly  over.  My  father  had  got  to  the  middle  of 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  when,  in  a  loud  voice,  Poll  called 
out,  "  As  many  as  are  of  that  opinion  will  say  '  aye ; ' 
as  many  as  are  of  the  contrary  opinion  will  say 
'no.'  The  'ayes'  have  it."  I  need  hardly  say, 
prayers  were  finished  under  difficulties. 

This  reminds  me  of  a  story  which  I  heard,  or  read, 
not  long  since,  of  a  gentleman  who  had  a  monkey 
and  a  parrot,  to  both  of  which  he  was  much  at- 
tached ;  but  such  was  the  enmity  of  the  monkey  to 
the  parrot,  that  he  never  ventured  to  leave  them  by 
themselves.  One  morning  he  had  just  come  down 
to  breakfast,  when  he  suddenly  remembered  that  he 


1 6  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

had  left  them  together  in  his  bedroom.  Upstairs  he 
ran,  three  steps  at  a  time,  and  into  his  room,  where, 
to  his  horror,  he  saw  the  monkey  seated  by  the  fire 
with  a  large  heap  of  feathers  before  him.  "  Oh,  you 
villain,"  he  called  out,  "  you  have  killed  the  parrot !  " 
At  the  same  moment  he  heard  a  slight  rustling 
behind  him,  and,  on  turning  round,  saw  the  poor 
bird  coming  from  under  the  bed  with  scarcely  a 
feather  except  a  few  on  his  head,  which  he  held  on 
one  side  and  said,  "We've  been  having  a  devil  of 
a  time  of  it ! " 


LORD  EDWARDS  DAGGER  17 


Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald's  dagger  —  United  Irishmen  :  the  Apo- 
logia of  John  Sheares  —  Doctor  Dobbin's  kind  deeds  —  The 
story  of  the  llchester  oak  —  An  outlaw  sportsman :  his  nar- 
row escape  and  sad  ending. 

To  return  to  my  brother :  —  the  tone  of  those  early 
verses,  from  which  I  have  given  quotations,  as  well 
as  that  of  some  of  his  later  ballads,  was  due  to  his 
mother,  who,  as  a  girl,  had  been  in  her  heart  more 
or  less  a  rebel.  She  told  him  of  the  hard  fate  which, 
in  '98,  befel  many  of  those  whom  she  knew  and 
admired.  She  told  him  much  of  Lord  Edward  Fitz- 
gerald and  the  fight  he  made  for  his  life,  and  showed 
him  the  dagger  with  which  he  fought  for  it.  It  is 
many  years  now  since  she  gave  me  that  dagger,  and 
with  it  the  following  written  account  of  how  it  came 
into  her  possession  :  — 

"  I  was  almost  a  child  when  I  possessed  myself  of  the  dagger 
with  which  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  had  defended  himself  so 
desperately  at  the  time  of  his  arrest.  The  circumstances  con- 
nected with  it  are  these :  —  Mrs.  Swan,  wife  of  Major  Swan 
(Deputy  Town  Major),  was  a  relative  of  my  mother.  Our 
family  constantly  visited  at  her  house  in  Xorth  Great  George's 
Street.  My  mother  often  took  my  younger  sister  and  me  there. 


1 8  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

I  often  heard  Major  Swan  describe  the  dreadful  struggle  in 
which  he  had  himself  received  a  severe  wound  from  the  dagger 
which  he  had  succeeded  in  wresting  from  Lord  Edward,  and 
which  he  took  a  pleasure  in  showing  as  a  trophy.  The  dreadful 
conflict  is  described  in  the  Annual  Register,  and  in  the  journals 
of  the  day.  The  death-wound  which  Lord  Edward  received, 
and  the  death  of  Captain  Ryan,  are  known  to  every  one.  The 
character  of  Lord  Edward,  the  position  which  he  held,  and  his 
tragical  death,  the  domestic  happiness  which  he  had  enjoyed, 
and  the  affection  in  which  he  held  those  near  to  him,  I  need 
not  describe.  When  I  saw  the  dagger  in  the  hands  with  which 
Lord  Edward  had  striven  in  the  last  fatal  struggle  for  life  or 
death,  I  felt  that  it  was  not  rightfully  his  who  held  it,  and 
wished  it  were  in  other  hands.  Wishes  soon  changed  into 
plans,  and  I  determined,  if  possible,  to  get  it.  I  knew  the  spot 
in  the  front  drawing-room  where  it  was  laid,  and  one  evening, 
after  tea,  when  Major  Swan  and  his  guests  were  engaged  in 
conversation  in  the  back  drawing-room,  I  walked  into  the  front 
drawing-room,  to  the  spot  where  it  was.  I  seized  it  and  thrust 
it  into  my  bosom,  inside  my  stays.  I  returned  to  the  company, 
where  I  had  to  sit  for  an  hour,  and  then  drove  home  a  distance 
of  three  miles.  As  soon  as  we  left  the  house  I  told  my  sister, 
who  was  beside  me,  what  I  had  done.  As  soon  as  we  got 
home,  I  rushed  up  to  the  room  which  my  sister  and  I  occupied, 
and,  having  secured  the  door,  I  opened  one  of  the  seams  in  the 
feather  bed,  took  out  the  dagger,  and  plunged  it  among  the 
feathers.  For  upwards  of  twelve  years  I  lay  every  night  upon 
the  bed  which  contained  my  treasure.  When  I  left  home  I 
took  it  with  me,  and  it  has  been  my  companion  in  all  the  vicis- 
situdes of  life.  When  he  missed  it  Major  Swan  was  greatly 
incensed,  and  not  without  apprehensions  that  it  had  been  taken 
to  inflict  a  deadly  revenge  upon  him.  Had  he  taken  harsh 
measures  against  the  servants,  whom  he  might  have  suspected, 
I  had  resolved  to  confess  that  I  had  taken  it ;  but  after  a  time 
his  auger  and  uneasiness  subsided.  I  have  often  seen  and 


UNITED  IRISHMEN  19 

heard  this  dagger  described  as  a  most  extraordinary  weapon, 
and  have  been  ready  to  laugh  when  I  heard  it  so  described. 
Moore  mentions  it  in  his  life  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  as 
being  in  the  possession  of  some  other  family.  He  is  quite  mis- 
taken. This  is  the  very  dagger,  which  had  not  been  many 
months  in  Major  Swan's  hands,  when  it  became  mine  in  the 

manner  above  described. 

"EMMA  L.  LE  FAKU. 
"  April,  1847." 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  what  an  enthusiastic 
admirer  of  Lord  Edward  my  mother  was.  There 
were  two  other  United  Irishmen  whom  she  knew 
well;  they  were  the  brothers  Sheares,  whose  base 
and  cruel  betrayal  by  another  United  Irishman,  who 
was  their  trusted  friend  and  companion,  caused  such 
intense  indignation  amongst  all  who  knew  them. 
They  were  barristers  and  men  of  good  position  and 
means,  sons  of  Henry  Sheares,  M.P.,  a  banker  in 
Cork,  and  were  friends  of  my  mother's  father,  the 
Rev.  Doctor  Dobbin.  A  short  time  before  the  cap- 
ture of  Lord  Ed  \vard  Fitzgerald  they,  with  twelve 
other  leaders  of  the  insurrectionary  movement,  were 
arrested.  The  two  brothers  were  tried  for  high 
treason  and  convicted,  and  were  executed  on  the 
14th  of  July,  1799.  Amongst  other  letters  of  theirs 
I  have  two,  which  I  give  below,  written,  the  one  just 
before  his  sentence,  the  other  the  night  before  his 
execution,  by  John,  the  younger  of  the  brothers. 
The  first  is  to  a  Mr.  Flemyng,  a  relative  of  my 
grandfather,  the  second  to  my  grandfather  himself. 


20  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  July  12,  '98. 
"  DEAR  HARRY, 

"  As  I  well  know  what  will  be  my  fate  to-day,  I  enclose  you 
a  letter  for  my  dear  sister,  which  I  request  you  will  give  her  as 
soon  after  my  execution  as  you  shall  think  prudent.  To  such 
dear  friends  as  you  and  William  are,  I  know  it  is  unnecessary 
to  recommend  my  afflicted  family,  and  particularly  my  ever- 
revered  mother.  I  will  require  the  performance  of  Doctor 
Dobbin's  kind  promise  as  soon  as  I  feel  myself  fit  to  receive 
him.  I  did  intend  giving  into  your  hands  a  short  defence 
relative  to  some  points  in  which  I  know  I  shall  be  vilely  calum- 
niated. But  I  have  not  had  time,  as  I  prepared  every  syllable 
of  our  defence,  and  wrote  letters,  etc.,  etc.  One  of  you  ought 
to  be  present  at  my  execution,  yet  this  is  too  much  to  ask.  No, 
I  must  endure  misrepresentation  —  the  hearts  of  my  friends  will 
justify  me.  Farewell,  my  ever  kind,  my  ever  valued  friends. 
I  am  called  to  court.  Farewell  for  ever. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"JOHN  SHEARES." 

"To  the  Rev.  Doctor  Dobbin,  D.D. 

"  Newgate,  12  o'clock  at  night, 

"July  13th,  1798. 
"My  DEAR  SIR, 

"  As  to-morrow  is  appointed  for  the  execution  of  my  brother 
and  me,  I  shall  trouble  you  with  a  few  words  on  the  subject  of 
the  writing  produced  on  my  trial,  importing  to  be  a  proclama- 
tion. The  first  observation  I  have  to  make  is  that  a  consider- 
able part  of  that  scrolled  production  was  suppressed  on  my 
trial,  from  what  motive  or  whether  by  accident  I  will  not  say. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  part  which  has  not  appeared  must  have  in 
a  great  measure  shown  what  the  true  motives  were  that  caused 
that  writing,  if  it  had  been  produced.  To  avoid  a  posthumous 
calumny,  in  addition  to  the  many  and  gross  misrepresentations 
of  my  principles,  moral  and  political,  I  shall  state,  with  the 
most  sacred  regard  to  truth,  what  my  chief  objects  were  in 


A   LETTER   FROM  NEWGATE  21 

writing,  or  rather  in  attempting  to  write  it,  for  it  is  but  a 
wretched  patched  and  garbled  attempt.  It  was  contained  in 
a  sheet  of  paper,  and  in  one  or  two  pieces  more  which  are  not 
forthcoming. 

"  The  sheet  alone  has  been  produced.  It  is  written  in  very 
violent  revolutionary  language,  because,  as  it  in  the  outset 
imports,  after  a  revolution  had  taken  place  could  it 'alone  be 
published.  And  the  occurrence  of  such  an  event  I  thought 
every  day  more  probable.  The  first  sentence  that  has  produced 
much  misrepresentation  is  that  which  mentions  that  some  of 
the  most  obnoxious  members  of  Government  have  already  paid 
the  forfeit  of  their  lives.  I  cannot  state  the  words  exactly. 
From  this  it  is  concluded  that  I  countenanced  assassination. 
Gracious  God !  but  I  shall  simply  answer  that  this  sentence 
was  merely  supposititous,  and  founded  on  the  common  remark, 
oftenest  made  by  those  who  least  wished  it  verified,  that  if  the 
people  had  ever  recourse  to  force  and  succeeded,  there  were 
certain  persons  whom  they  would  most  probably  destroy.  The 
next  most  obnoxious  sentence,  more  obnoxious  to  my  feelings, 
because  calculated  to  misrepresent  the  real  sentiments  of  my 
soul,  is  that  which  recommends  to  give  no  quarter  to  those  who 
fought  against  their  native  country,  unless  they  should  speedily 
join  the  standard  of  freedom.*  With  this  latter  part  of  the  sen- 
tence I  found  two  faults,  and  therefore  draw  my  pen  over  it 
as  above.  The  first  fault  was  that  the  word  '  speedily '  was 
too  vague,  and  might  encourage  the  sanguinary  immediately 
to  deny  quarter,  which  is  the  very  thing  the  sentence  was 
intended  to  discountenance  and  prevent.  The  next  fault  was 
thai,  it  required  more  than  ever  should  be  required  of  any 
human  being,  namely,  to  fight  against  his  opinions  from  fear. 
The  sentence  was  intended  to  prevent  the  horrid  measure  of 
refusing  quarter  from  being  adopted  by  appearing  to  acquiesce 

*  In  the  original  a  line  is  drawn  with  the  pen  through  these 
words. 


22  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

iii  it  at  some  future  period,  when  the  inhuman  thirst  for  it 
should  no  longer  exist.  But  as  the  sentence  now  stands,  in 
two  parts  of  the  sheet,  it  would  appear  as  if  it  sought  to  enforce 
the  measure  I  most  abhor.  To  prevent  it  was  in  fact  one  of 
my  leading  motives  for  writing  the  address.  But  I  had  also 
three  others,  that  are  expressed  in  the  pieces  of  paper  which 
made  part  of  the  writing,  but  which,  though  laid  in  the  same 
desk,  have  disappeared.  The  three  objects  alluded  to  are 
these :  the  protection  of  property,  preventing  the  indulgence 
of  revenge,  and  the  strict  forbiddance  of  injuring  any  person 
for  religious  differences.  I  know  it  is  said  that  I  call  on  the 
people  to  take  vengeance  on  their  oppressors,  and  enumerate 
some  of  their  oppressions;  but  this  is  the  very  thing  that 
enables  me  to  describe  the  difference  between  private  revenge 
and  public  vengeance.  The  former  has  only  a  retrospective  and 
malignant  propensity,  while  the  latter,  though  animated  by  a 
recollection  of  the  past,  has  ever,  and  only,  in  view  the  removal 
of  the  evil  and  of  its  possibility  of  recurrence.  Thus  the  assas- 
sin revenges  himself,  but  the  patriot  avenges  his  country  of 
its  enemies  by  overthrowing  them  and  depriving  them  of  all 
power  again  to  hurt  it.  In  the  struggle  some  of  their  lives 
may  fall,  but  these  are  not  the  objects  of  his  vengeance.  In 
short,  the  Deity  is  said,  in  this  sense,  to  be  an  avenging  Being, 
but  who  deems  Him  revengeful  ? 

"  Adieu,  my  dear  sir.  Let  me  entreat  you,  whenever  an 
opportunity  shall  occur,  that  you  will  justify  iny  principles  on 
these  points. 

"  Believe  me, 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"JOHN  SHEARES." 

The  Doctor  Dobbin  referred  to  in  the  first  of 
these  letters  was  my  grandfather.  He  had  been  a 
Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  but  he  resigned 


DOCTOR  DOBBIN  23 

his  fellowship  in  order  to  take  to  him  a  wife  (the 
fellows  had  then  to  be  celibate).  The  wife  he  took 
was  Miss  Catherine  Coote,  of  Ash  Hill  Towers,  in 
the  county  of  Limerick,  aunt  of  the  late  Sir  Charles 
Coote.  She  died  before  I  was  born,  but  him  I  can 
remember  well  —  a  very  small  man  in  a  full-bottomed 
wig,  knee-breeches,  black  silk  stockings,  buckles  in 
his  shoes,  and  in  his  hand  a  gold-headed  cane.  He 
was  long  remembered  in  Dublin  and  its  neighbour- 
hood for  his  goodness  and  kindness  to  the  poor,  and 
many  stories  were  told  of  his  simplicity  and  charity. 
Once  a  man  was  begging  at  his  carriage  window ; 
he  had  no  change  about  him,  so  he  handed  the  man 
a  guinea,  and  said  to  him,  "  Go,  my  poor  man,  get 
me  change  of  that,  and  I  will  give  you  a  shilling." 
I  need  hardly  say  he  saw  that  beggar's  face  no  more. 
Another  day  his  wife,  on  coining  home,  found  him 
in  the  hall  with  his  hands  behind  his  back.  She 
soon  perceived  that  he  was  hiding  something  from 
her,  and  insisted  on  knowing  what  it  was.  He 
timidly  brought  out  from  behind  his  back  a  leg  of 
mutton  which  had  been  roasting  in  the  kitchen,  and 
which  he  had  surreptitiously  removed  from  the  spit 
to  give  to  a  poor  woman  who  was  waiting  at  the 
door. 

In  our  earlier  days  at  Abington  our  favourite 
haunts  for  nutting  and  bird-nesting  were  the  Glen 
and  the  Old  Deer  Park  of  Cappercullen,  which 


24  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

now  form  part  of  Glenstal,  Sir  Charles  Barrington's 
picturesque  demesne.  In  the  Old  Park  there  stood, 
and  still  stands,  the  Ilchester  oak,  one  great  bough 
of  which  stretched  just  to  the  edge  of  the  drive, 
and  there  came  nearly  to  the  ground.  Many  a  time 
we  sat  on  this  great  bough,  as  many  a  boy  and  girl 
had  done  before,  and  by  touching  our  feet  to  the 
ground,  made  it  spring  up  and  down ;  it  was  a 
perfect  spring-board.  I  did  not  then  know  how 
the  old  tree  had  got  its  name,  but  many  years  after- 
wards I  was  told  this  story  by  my  father-in-law, 
Sir  Matthew  Barrington :  — 

THE  ILCHESTER  OAK 

'Tis  well  nigh  a  hundred  years,  perhaps  more, 
since  Cappercullen  House  was  tenanted  by  a  widower 
named  Grady  —  not  rich,  but  of  an  old  and  honoured 
family.  He  had  one  only  daughter,  Mary,  the 
prettiest  and  merriest  little  maid  in  all  that  country- 
side, one  of  whose  favourite  sports  was  riding  on 
this  old  oak  bough.  Prettier  and  prettier  year  by 
year  the  maiden  grew,  till,  when  just  seventeen, 
at  her  first  dance  at  a  Limerick  race  ball,  she  was 
declared  by  all  to  be  the  loveliest  and  the  brightest 
girl  in  the  county,  which  was. then,  and  I  believe  still 
is,  famous  for  the  beauty  of  its  lasses.  It  was  there 
she  met  young  Lord  Stavordale,  eldest  son  of  Lord 
Ilchester,  who  had  just  joined  his  regiment,  and 


THE  1LCHESTER   OAK  25 

whose  admiration  she  at  once  attracted.  After- 
wards they  often  met,  for  he  lost  no  opportunity  of 
seeing  her  as  often  as  he  could.  He  would  ride  out 
to  Cappercullen,  and  join  her  in  her  walks  with  her 
father  through  the  Glen  and  the  Old  Deer  Park. 
Soon  he  loved  her  with  all  the  ardour  of  first  love. 
Grady  saw  that  his  daughter  liked  the  bright  and 
handsome  young  fellow,  but  knowing  that  Lord 
Ilchester  would  be  sure  to  object  to  his  eldest  son 
marrying  the  daughter  of  a  poor  Irishman,  and 
fearing  that  his  daughter's  affections  should  become 
too  deeply  engaged,  he  wrote  to  Lord  Ilchester  to 
the  following  effect :  —  "  My  Lord,  I  hope  you  will 
pardon  the  liberty  I  take  in  writing  to  you  about 
your  son.  My  only  excuse  is  the  great  interest  I 
take  in  the  young  man,  and  my  fear  that  if  he 
remains  in  Limerick  he  is  likely  to  be  involved  in 
an  unpleasant  scrape.  I  would,  therefore,  most 
strongly  advise  you  to  have  him  moved  elsewhere 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  I  trust  to  your  honour  that 
you  will  not  tell  him  that  I  have  written  to  you,  or 
mention  to  him  the  subject  of  this  letter,"  He  re- 
ceived a  reply  full  of  gratitude  in  which  Lord 
Ilchester  said  that  he  regretted  that  he  might 
probably  never  have  an  opportunity  of  thanking 
him  in  person  for  his  kindness,  but  had  requested 
his  old  friend,  Colonel  Prendergast,  who  was  likely 
ere  long  to  be  in  the  south  of  Ireland,  to  call  upon 


26  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

him  to  convey  to  him  his  thanks  more  fully  than 
he  could  do  by  letter.  Young  Stavordale  imme- 
diately disappeared  from  Limerick.  The  poor  girl 
heard  no  more  of  him.  She  tried  to  be  bright  and 
cheery  with  her  father,  but  he  saw  that  her  spirits 
sank,  and  that  day  by  day  she  grew  paler  and  more 
sad.  Thus  things  went  on  for  some  months,  when, 
late  in  autumn,  a  letter  came  from  Colonel  Prender- 
gast  to  say  that  he  expected  to  be  in  Limerick  on 
the  following  Friday,  and  would,  at  Lord  Ilchester's 
request,  call  to  see  Mr.  Grady  on  Saturday,  if  he 
would  receive  him.  Grady  wrote  to  say  he  would 
be  delighted  to  see  him,  and  hoped  he  would  be 
able  to  arrange  to  stay  for  some  little  time  at  Cap- 
percullen.  The  colonel  arrived  accordingly,  and  it 
was  soon  settled  that  he  would  stay  for  a  week. 
At  once  he  took  a  fancy  to  the  girl,  and  many  a 
walk  they  had  together,  and  every  day  he  was 
more  charmed  by  her  pale  but  lovely  face,  her  gentle 
manners,  and  her  pretty  ways.  The  week  was  soon 
over,  and  the  morning  of  his  departure  had  arrived. 
Before  leaving,  he  asked  his  host  whether  he  could 
allow  him  to  have  a  few  words  with  him  in  private. 
When  they  were  alone  — 

"I  hope,"  he  said,  "you  will  forgive  me  for 
speaking  to  you  about  your  daughter.  I  have  been 
closely  observing  her,  and,  though  you  do  not  seem 
to  see  it,  I  greatly  fear  she  is  far  from  strong.  I 


THE  ILCHESTER   OAK  27 

dread  the  winter  here  for  her,  and  I  venture  to 
urge  you  strongly  to  take  her  to  a  warmer  climate 
for  a  time." 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  for  the  interest  you  take 
in  my  girl,"  said  Grady ;  "  but  I  am  glad  to  say 
you  are  quite  mistaken  as  to  her  health.  I  am 
convinced  that  there  is  nothing  serious  the  matter 
with  her,  and  trust  she  will  very  soon  be  as  well 
as  ever." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  deceived,"  said  the  other. 
"  She  is  so  pale,  and  at  times  so  depressed  and  sad, 
that  I  fear  she  is  more  seriously  ill  than  you  suppose." 

"  I  see,"  said  Grady.  "  I  may  as  well  tell  you, 
in  the  strictest  confidence,  what  is  really  the  matter 
with  her;  but  you  must  promise  never  to  let  Lord 
Ilchester  know  what  I  now  tell  you.  It  was  about 
her  that  young  Stavordale  was  making  a  fool  of 
himself;  it  is  about  him  that  she  is  depressed,  but 
as  she  has  never  heard  of  or  from  him  since  he  left, 
she  will  very  soon  get  over  it." 

Colonel  Prendergast  at  once  said,  "]Vly  dear  sir, 
you  must  really  allow  me  to  tell  Lord  Ilchester. 
I  am  certain  if  he  knew  what  a  charming  girl,  in 
every  way,  your  daughter  is,  he  would  be  only  too 
glad  that  she  should  be  his  son's  wife." 

"  No,"  said  Grady ;  "  you  must  never  tell  him. 
I  know  he  would  never  consent  to  that." 

'"But  I  know  he  would,"  said  the  other,  "for  I 


28  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

am  Lord  Ilchester,  and  shall  be  proud  to  have  such 
a  wife  for  my  son." 

So  they  were  wed,  and  many  happy  years  they 
spent  together.  Long  years  have  passed,  and  they 
are  dead  and  gone;  but  the  old  Ilchester  oak  still 
stands  in  CappercuUen  Park  to  remind  us  of  them ; 
and  from  this  marriage  are  descended  the  present 
Earl  of  Ilchester  and  the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne. 

I  give  the  story  as  it  was  told  to  me.  I  cannot 
vouch  for  the  accuracy  of  all  the  details,  but  the 
main  facts  I  believe  to  be  perfectly  true.  Some 
years  ago  I  told  it  to  Miss  Jephson,  now  Mrs.  Boyle, 
and  from  it  she  took  the  plot  of  her  charming  novel, 
"  An  April  Day." 

Soon  after  we  went  to  Abington  there  was,  in 
our  neighbourhood,  a  famous  outlaw  named  Kirby, 
who  was  "  on  his  keeping ; "  that  is,  in  hiding  from 
the  police.  He  had  been  engaged  in  any  number 
of  agrarian  outrages,  amongst  them  the  shooting 
of  a  landlord  near  Nenagh.  The  Government  had 
offered  a  large  reward  for  his  capture,  and  the 
magistrates  and  police  in  the  district  were  doing  all 
in  their  power  to  take  him.  In  his  early  days  he 
had  been  passionately  fond  of  races,  hunts,  and 
sports  of  every  sort ;  and  even  now,  when  a  price 
was  set  on  his  head,  he  could,  sometimes,  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  going  to  a  hunt  or  coursing  match. 


A  FAMOUS  OUTLAW  29 

At  some  of  these  he  narrowly  escaped  capture.  Our 
friend  and  neighbour,  Mr.  Coote,  who  was  a  magis- 
trate as  well  as  a  clergyman,  on  coming  home  from 
a  coursing  match,  said  to  one  of  his  men,  "Who 
was  that  fine-looking  fellow  that  was  so  active  at 
the  match?"  "It's  well  for  him,"  said  the  man, 
"  that  your  honour  didn't  know  him.  That  was 
Kirby." 

Perhaps  the  narrowest  escape  Kirby  had  was  one 
that  also  happened  very  near  us.  His  mother,  whom 
he  rarely  ventured  to  visit,  lived  in  a  one-roomed 
cottage  about  a  mile  from  us,  with  her  only  other 
child,  a  daughter.  One  Sunday  Kirby  arrived,  and, 
after  much  pressure  from  his  mother,  whom  he  had 
not  seen  for  a  long  time,  he  consented  to  stay  with 
her  till  the  next  day.  Meantime  an  informer,  hoping 
to  secure  the  reward,  went  into  Limerick  and  told 
Major  Yokes  that  Kirby  was  almost  certain  to  be  at 
his  mother's  that  night.  Yokes  held  a  position 
under  Government  analogous  to  that  now  held  by  a 
stipendiary  magistrate.  He  was  the  most  active 
magistrate  in  the  south,  and  had  detected  more 
crime  and  brought  more  offenders  to  justice  than 
any  man  in  Ireland ;  and  knowing  how  much  it 
would  add  to  his  fame  if  he  could  arrest  Kirby, 
he  had  often  before  searched  the  Widow  Kirby's 
house  for  him,  but  never  found  any  one  there  but 
herself  and  her  daughter. 


30  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

On  this  Sunday  evening  Kirby's  sister,  most  for- 
tunately for  the  outlaw,  had  gone  to  a  wake  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  stayed  out  all  night.  The  old 
woman  had  gone  to  bed,  and  Kirby  was  sitting  by 
the  fire,  his  pistols  on  the  table  beside  him.  For 
some  years  he  had  seldom  spent  a  night  in  the 
house.  When  he  did  so,  he  sat,  as  he  now  was 
sitting,  by  the  turf  fire,  where  the  slightest  sound 
was  sure  to  awake  him.  His  mother  had  not  long 
been  in  bed  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  horse  and 
car  approaching  the  house.  He  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  seizing  the  pistols,  said  to  his  mother  — 

"At  any  rate  I'll  have  the  life  of  one  of  them 
before  I'm  taken." 

"  "Whisht,  you  fool !  "  said  his  mother.  "  Here, 
be  quick !  "  put  on  Mary's  cap,  take  your  pistols  with 
you.  Jump  into  bed,  turn  your  face  to  the  wall,  and 
lave  the  rest  to  me." 

He  was  scarcely  in  bed  when  there  was  a  loud 
knocking  at  the  door,  which  his  mother,  having  lit 
a  rush,  opened  as  quickly  as  possible. 

In  came  Major  Yokes,  accompanied  by  two 
constables,  who  had  driven  from  Limerick  with  him. 
"  Where  is  your  son  ?  "  said  Yokes. 

"  Plaze  God,  he's  far  enough  from  ye.  It's  wel- 
come ye  are  this  night,"  she  said.  "  And  thanks 
be  to  the  Lord  it  wasn't  yestherday  ye  came;  for 
it's  me  and  Mary  there  that  strove  to  make  him 


A   FAMOUS   OUTLAW  31 

stop  the  night  wid  us;  but  thank  God  he  was 
af  eared." 

They  searched  the  house,  but  did  not  like  to 
disturb  the  young  girl  in  bed,  and  finding  nothing, 
went,  sadly  disappointed,  back  to  Limerick.  The 
news  of  Kirby's  escape  soon  spread  through  the 
country.  Yokes  was  much  chaffed,  but  Kirby  never 
slept  another  night  in  his  mother's  house. 

It  was  some  months  after  this  that  the  wife  of  a 
farmer  who  lived  near  Doon  called  one  morning 
and  asked  to  see  our  neighbour,  Mr.  Coote.  When 
she  came  into  his  study,  she  said  — 

"  Your  reverence,  could  they  do  anything  to 
Kirby  if  he  was  dead  ? " 

"How  could  they,  my  good  woman.  What  do 
you  mean  ? " 

"It's  what  I  was  af  eared,  your  reverence,  that 
they  might  send  his  body  to  the  prison  to  be  dis- 
sected by  the  doctors." 

Mr.  Coote,  whom  she  thoroughly  trusted,  assured 
her  that  nothing  of  the  kind  could  happen. 

"  Then,"  said  she,  "  come  with  me  and  I'll  show 
him  to  you  dead." 

He  went  to  her  house  with  her,  and  there  he 
saw,  lying  dead  on  the  bed,  the  fine  young  fellow 
whom  he  had,  not  long  before,  seen  at  the  coursing 
match. 

"  When  and  how  did  he  die  ?"  he   asked. 


32  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  Last  night,"  they  said,  "  he  was  stopping  witli 
us,  and  when  he  heard  steps  coming  towards  the 
house,  thinking  it  might  be  the  peelers,  he  ran  out 
through  the  back-door,  with  his  pistol  in  his  hand, 
into  the  little  wood.  "We  heard  a  shot  after  he 
went,  but  we  didn't  much  mind  it  at  the  time ;  but 
this  morning  we  found  him  lying  dead  in  the  wood, 
with  his  foot  caught  in  the  briar  that  tripped  him." 

In  his  fall  the  pistol  must  have  gone  off.  He  was 
shot  through  the  heart.  I  do  not  recollect  a  larger 
funeral  than  his. 


FACTION  FIGHTS  33 


CHAPTER  III 

Faction  fights  :  the  Reaskawallahs  and  Coffeys  —  Paternal  chas- 
tisement —  A  doctor  in  livery  —  I  bear  the  Olive  branch  — 
Battles  of  the  buryings  —  Dead  men's  shoes  —  Fairy  Doctors  : 
their  patient  spoils  a  coachman's  toggery  —  Superstitions 
about  birds. 

WHEN  we  went  to  the  county  of  Limerick  there 
were  many  factions  there  —  the  Shanavests  and 
Caravats,  the  Coffeys  and  the  Reaskawallahs,  the 
Three  Years  Old  and  Four  Years  Old.  All  these 
are  now  extinct  except  the  last  named,  who  still 
have  a  smouldering  existence,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Emly,  which  occasionally  flares  up  into  a  little 
blaze;  but  the  glorious  fights  of  other  days  are 
gone. 

The  factions  nearest  to  us  were  the  Coffeys  and 
the  Reaskawallahs,  the  latter  so  called  from  the 
name  of  a  townland  near  Doon,  where  its  chieftains 
had  lived  for  generations.  In  our  time  its  leader 
was  John  Ryan,  generally  called  "  Shawn  Lucash  " 
(i.e.  John,  the  son  of  Luke),  a  powerful  man  who 
had  led  his  men  in  many  a  hard-fought  fight ;  while 
one  Coffey  of  Newport  was  chief  of  the  Coffeys. 
The  origin  of  their  feud  was.  as  in  most  other  cases, 


34  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

lost  in  antiquity.  The  members  of  opposite  factions, 
who  happened  to  dwell  near  each  other,  lived  peace- 
ably together,  except  on  the  occasions  when  they 
met  expressly  for  a  fight.  Fairs  were  the  usual 
battlefields,  though  at  times  a  special  hour  and  place 
was  fixed  for  a  battle.  I  recollect  one  that  was 
fought  at  Annagh  Bog,  near  us,  when  the  Coffeys 
were  the  victors;  a  few  were  killed  and  many  on 
both  sides  dangerously  wounded.  The  old  story, 
often  told,  that  the  row  began  by  one  man  taking 
off  his  coat  and  trailing  it  behind  him,  saying  "Who 
will  dare  to  tread  on  that?"  is  a  myth.  I  have  seen 
many  a  faction  fight,  every  one  of  which  began  in 
the  same  way,  which  was  thus :  one  man  "  wheeled," 
as  they  called  it,  for  his  party ;  that  is,  he  marched 
up  and  down,  flourishing  his  blackthorn,  and  shout- 
ing the  battle-cry  of  his  faction,  "Here  is  Coffey 
aboo  against  Reaska wallahs  ;  here  is  Coffey  aboo  — 
who  dar  strike  a  Coffey?"  "I  dar,"  shouted  one 
of  the  other  party;  "here's  Eeaskawallah  aboo," 
at  the  same  instant  making  a  whack  with  his  shille- 
lagh at  his  opponent's  head.  In  an  instant  hundreds 
of  sticks  were  up,  hundreds  of  heads  were  broken. 
In  vain  the  parish  priest  and  his  curate  ride  through 
the  crowd,  striking  right  and  left  with  their  whips ; 
in  vain  a  few  policemen  try  to  quell  the  riot ;  on  it 
goes  till  one  or  other  of  the  factions  is  beaten  and 
flies. 


A  FATHER'S   CHASTISEMENT  35 

Just  after  one  of  these  fights  at  the  fair  of 
Abington,  which  I  witnessed  from  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  river,  I  saw  an  elderly  man  running 
after  a  young  fellow  of  two  or  three  and  twenty, 
every  time  he  got  near  striking  him  on  the  head 
with  a  heavy  blackthorn,  and  at  every  blow  setting 
the  blood  streaming  from  his  head.  At  last  the 
youth  got  beyond  his  reach.  "Why,"  said  I  to  a 
man  standing  near  me,  "  does  that  young  fellow 
let  the  old  man  beat  him  in  that  savage  way?" 
"  Ah,  sure,  your  honour,"  said  he,  "  that's  only  his 
father  that  is  chastising  him  for  fighting." 

The  members  of  the  Coffey  faction  were  all  men 
of  that  name,  or  their  relatives  and  connections; 
the  Reaskawallahs  were  nearly  all  Ryans,  which  is 
the  most  common  name  in  that  part  of  the  county ; 
so  common  that  to  distinguish  one  from  another 
nearly  every  Ryan  had  a  nickname,  generally  a 
patronymic,  as  Shawn  Lucash,  already  mentioned. 
Another  of  the  same  faction  was  Denis  Ryan,  of 
Cuppannuke,  always  called  "  Donagh  Shawn  Heige  " 
(Denis,  son  of  John  Timothy),  his  father  being 
"  Shawn  Heige  "  (John  the  son  of  Timothy).  There 
was  also  one  Tom  Ryan,  whose  son  was  Tom  Tom, 
his  son  again  Tommy  Tom  Tom,  while  Tommy  Tom 
Tom's  son  was  Tommy  Torn  Tom's  Tommy.  When 
not  a  patronymic  the  name  had  reference  to  some 
personal  peculiarity,  such  as  "  Shamus  na  Cussa " 


36  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

(Jim  of  the  Log),  "  Shawn  Lauder  "  (Strong  John), 
or  "  Leum  a  Kinka  "  (Bill  of  the  dance). 

In  those  days  doctors  and  dispensaries  were  few 
and  far  between,  so  the  wounded  generally  came 
for  treatment  to  our  coachman,  an  amateur  surgeon, 
who  had  been  an  officer's  servant  in  the  Peninsular 
War.  His  method  was  simple,  somewhat  painful, 
and  supposed  by  the  sufferers  to  be  highly  efficacious. 
He  clipped  the  hair  from  about  the  wound,  poured 
in  turpentine  mixed  with  whisky  —  this,  of  course, 
caused  a  yell  —  stitched  the  cut  if  a  severe  one, 
plastered  it  slightly,  and  then  sent  his  patient  home, 
equally  amazed  at  his  skill  and  charmed  with  his 
kindness. 

Though,  as  I  have  said,  we  may  still  from  time 
to  time  hear  of  a  small  faction  fight  in  the  south 
of  Ireland,  few  men  can  remember  them  in  their 
palmy  days,  where  at  every  fair  and  market  oppos- 
ing factions  met  and  many  a  head  was  broken.  In 
1829,  towards  the  close  of  the  agitation  for  Catholic 
emancipation,  all  this  was  changed.  O'Connell  and 
the  priests,  constantly  speaking  and  preaching  against 
England's  hated  plan  of  governing  Ireland  by  divide 
et  impera,  unceasingly  from  platform  and  from  altar 
urging  the  necessity  of  union,  at  last  succeeded  in 
reconciling  the  contending  factions.  Monster  meet- 
ings and  monster  marchings,  displays  of  physical 
forces,  were  organized.  One  of  these  great  march- 


FACTION'  FIGHTS  37 

ings,  which  passed  close  to  our  house,  I  saw,  and 
indeed  took  part  in  it;  for  a  friendly  peasant  in- 
duced me  (it  was  nothing  to  me)  to  march  some 
way  in  the  procession  carrying  a  green  bough  in 
my  hand.  It  was  the  marching  of  the  Reaska wallahs 
from  their  head-quarters  near  Doon  to  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Coffeys  at  Newport.  They  marched 
six  deep,  in  military  order,  with  music  and  banners, 
each  man  carrying,  as  an  emblem  of  peace,  a  green 
bough ;  the  procession  was  nearly  two  miles  long. 
On  its  arrival  at  Newport  the  meeting  was  cele- 
brated with  much  joy  and  whisky,  and,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  priests,  a  treaty  of  perpetual  peace  was 
established,  and  never  from  that  day  did  those  fac- 
tions meet  again  for  battle.  Similar  reconciliations 
took  place  all  over  the  country,  and  faction  fighting 
practically  ended.  The  peace  established  in  other 
parts  of  Ireland  did  not,  however,  extend  to  the 
north,  where  the  opposite  parties  were  of  a  different 
sort  —  Orangemen  v.  Roman  Catholics.  They  are 
now  as  ready  for  a  fight  as  then,  and  are  seldom 
long  without  one,  and  are  expected  to  have  a  still 
livelier  time  if  a  Home  Rule  Bill  should  pass. 

The  fights  which  occasionally  occurred  at  funerals, 
the  so-called  battles  of  the  Derrins  (buryings),  had 
no  connection  with  the  regular  faction  fights,  and 
continued  long  after  the  former  had  ceased.  They 
never  occurred  except  when  there  were  two  funerals 


38  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

on  the  same  day,  in  the  same  churchyard,  and  not 
very  often  even  then.  They  had  their  origin  in  the 
superstition  that  the  last  person  buried  in  a  church- 
yard has,  in  addition  to  his  other  troubles,  to  carry 
water  to  allay  the  thirst  (in  Purgatory)  of  all  those 
previously  buried  there.  His  or  her  work  is  inces- 
sant, day  and  night  and  in  all  weathers.  Where  the 
water  comes  from  I  have  never  heard,  but  as  much 
is  wanted,  for  the  weather  there  is  very  hot,  the 
carrier  of  water  is  not  relieved  from  his  arduous 
duties  till  another  funeral  takes  place.  So,  if  there 
are  to  be  two  funerals  at  the  same  place  on  the  same 
day,  the  lively  competition  as  to  which  shall  get 
first  into  the  churchyard  not  unfrequently  leads  to  a 
fight.  I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  one  such  fight 
in  our  neighbourhood,  when  much  blood  flowed.  It 
arose  in  this  way.  Two  funerals  were  approaching 
Abington  Churchyard  in  opposite  directions,  one 
from  Murroe,  the  other  from  Barrington's  Bridge. 
The  former  was  nearing  the  churchyard  gate;  on 
perceiving  this  the  people  in  the  other  funeral  took 
a  short  cut  by  running  across  a  field,  carrying  the 
coffin  with  them,  which  they  succeeded  in  throwing 
over  the  wall  of  the  churchyard  before  the  others 
were  able  to  get  in  by  the  gate.  This  was  counted 
such  sharp  practice  that  they  were  at  once  attacked 
by  the  other  party,  and  a  battle  royal  ensued. 
Peasants  have  been  known  to  put  shoes  or  boots 


FAIRY  DOCTORS  39 

into  coffins  to  save  the  feet  of  their  relatives  in  their 
long  and  weary  water-carrying  walks.  Our  neigh- 
bour, John  Kyan,  of  Cuppanuke,  the  Shawn  Ileige, 
whom  I  mentioned,  put  two  pair  of  shoes  in  the 
coffin  of  his  wife  —  a  strong  pair  for  bad  weather, 
a  light  pair  for  ordinary  wear. 

Amongst  many  superstitions  none  was  more  gen- 
eral than  the  belief  that  the  fairies  —  "the  good 
people,"  as  the  peasantry  euphemistically  call  them 
—  often  take  a  child  from  its  parents,  substituting  a 
fairy  for  it.  This  generally  was  supposed  to  happen 
when  a  child  was  very  ill,  especially  if  so  ill  as  to  be 
unable  to  speak.  A  chief  part  of  the  practice  of 
fairy  doctors,  one  or  two  of  whom  were  sure  to  be 
found  in  every  town,  was  to  prescribe  in  cases  of  this 
kind.  In  the  family  of  one  of  my  father's  labourers, 
Mick  Tucker,  such  a  case  occurred.  He  and  his 
wife  Nell  had  an  only  child,  Johnny,  who  at  the 
time  I  speak  of  was  about  eight  years  old.  He  was 
very  ill,  and  for  some  days  had  not  spoken.  One 
morning  I  went  with  my  mother  to  their  cottage  to 
see  how  he  was.  To  our  surprise  we  found  him 
lying  on  his  bed,  outside  the  bedclothes,  his  feet  on 
the  bolster,  his  head  at  the  foot  of  the  bed ;  on  his 
chest  a  plate  of  salt,  on  which  two  rushes  were 
placed  across.  On  inquir}7,  we  found  that  his  mother 
had  gone  to  Limerick  the  day  before  to  consult  Ned 
Gallagher,  a  fairy  doctor  of  high  repute  in  those 


40  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

days,  and  it  was  he  who  had  prescribed  this  treat- 
ment, and  had  told  her  that  under  it  the  fairy  would 
probably  speak  before  evening,  and  declare  what  he 
wanted,  and  would  depart.  If,  however,  he  did  not, 
she  was  to  light  a  turf  fire  opposite  the  house  at 
twelve  o'clock  that  night  and  hold  the  fairy  over  it 
on  a  shovel  till  he  screamed,  when  he  would  at  once 
vanish,  the  "good  people"  at  the  same  moment 
restoring  the  stolen  child.  This  latter  part  of  the 
prescription  my  father  and  mother  determined  to 
take  steps  to  prevent ;  but  there  was  no  need  to  do 
so,  for  happily  before  night  Johnny  began  to  speak. 
He  gradually  recovered,  but  he,  as  well  as  his 
parents,  ever  after  firmly  believed  that  he  had  been 
away  with  the  "good  people,"  and  he  would  tell 
strange  stories  of  the  wonderful  places  he  had  visited 
and  the  beautiful  things  he  had  seen  when  on  his 
fairy  rambles ;  while  from  his  diminutive  form  and 
his  wild  ways  many  of  the  neighbours  thought  he 
was  a  fairy  still.  Some  years  after  he  lived  in  the 
service  of  an  aunt  of  mine  in  Dublin.  He  still  often 
talked  of  his  fairy  life ;  he  used  to  put  out  the  light 
in  the  pantry  and  sit  there  in  the  dark  alone,  "  paus- 
ing," as  he  called  it.  My  aunt  and  cousins  told  me 
many  a  story  of  his  strange  behaviour. 

I  had  myself  an  amusing  adventure  with  him.  I 
was  on  a  visit  with  my  aunt,  and  had  to  start  for 
Limerick  by  the  night  mail  coach.  It  happened  to 


A  BAD  SHOT  41 

be  the  Queen's  birthday,  on  which  day  the  coach- 
man and  guards  of  the  mail  always  got  their  new 
scarlet  coats  and  gold  lace  hat-bands.  All  the 
coaches,  too,  were  brightened  up,  and  during  the 
day  went  in  procession  through  the  streets,  each 
drawn  by  four  grey  horses,  the  coachmen  and  guards 
resplendent  in  their  new  clothes  and  wearing  large 
nosegays  in  their  breasts.  Precisely  as  the  post- 
office  clock  struck  eight  on  that  and  every  evening, 
the  mail  coaches  (there  were  eight  or  nine  of  them) 
followed  each  other  from  the  post-office  yard  and 
passed  into  Sackville  Street,  where  a  crowd  was 
always  assembled  to  see  the  start.  On  that  evening 
I  had  forgotten  to  take  with  me  a  parcel  of  ham- 
sandwiches  which  my  aunt  had  ready  for  me.  She 
found  this  out  immediately  after  I  had  left  her 
house,  and  told  John  Tucker  to  run  after  me  with 
the  parcel ;  •  but  before  he  arrived  the  coach  had 
started  and  was  in  Sackville  Street.  I  wTas  on  the 
box-seat  with  the  coachman,  when  I  beheld  John's 
figure  emerging  from  the  crowd,  wildly  shouting 
and  gesticulating.  He  flung  the  package  for  me  to 
catch ;  it  missed  me,  but  struck  the  coachman  full 
on  the  chest.  The  parcel  burst,  and  the  beautiful 
new  coat  was  spoiled  with  bread  and  ham,  butter 
and  mustard.  The  coachman  used  strong  language, 
and  gave  John  a  good  skelp  with  his  whip,  which 
made  him  scuttle  off  as  fast  as  his  little  leg's  could 


42  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

carry  him.  1  took  no  further  notice,  beyond  saying 
to  the  coachman  — 

"What  could  that  queer  little  fellow  mean  by 
flinging  all  that  stuff  at  you  ? " 

"  Didn't  you  see,  sir,"  said  he,  "  that  was  a  lunatic  ? 
Didn't  you  see  the  wild  eyes  of  him,  and  the  whole 
cut  of  him  ?  Bad  luck  to  him !  he  has  destroyed  my 
new  coat." 

As  John  grew  older  his  eccentricities  wore  off, 
and  for  more  than  thirty  years  he  was  my  faithful 
and  trusted  servant. 

Amongst  his  other  accomplishments,  when  a  boy, 
John  was  a  very  skilful  bird-catcher,  and  an  adept 
in  making  cribs  and  other  traps ;  and  many  a  thrush 
and  blackbird  he  captured  and  ate,  and  many  a 
robin  he  caught  and  let  go.  The  robin  (in  Irish,  the 
spiddoge)  is,  as  is  well  known,  a  blessed  bird,  and  no 
one,  no  matter  how  wild  or  cruel,  would  kill  or  hurt 
one,  partly  from  love,  partly  from  fear.  They  believe 
if  they  killed  a  robin  a  large  lump  would  grow  on 
the  palm  of  their  right  hand,  preventing  them  from 
working  and  from  hurling.  It  is  fear  alone,  how- 
ever, that  saves  a  swallow  from  injury,  for  it  is 
equally  well  known  that  every  swallow  has  in  him 
three  drops  of  the  devil's  blood.  All  other  birds  are 
fair  game. 

I  was  surprised  last  summer  when  in  the  county 
of  Kerry  to  find  a  custom  about  robins  still  exist- 


A  SUPERSTITION'  43 

ing  there,  which  I  had  thought  was  confined  to 
the  boys  in  Limerick  and  Tipperary.  When  a  boy 
visited  his  crib,  and  in  it,  instead  of  the  black- 
bird or  thrush  he  hoped  for,  found  a  robin,  his  dis- 
appointment was  naturally  great.  The  robin  he  dare 
not  kill,  but  he  took  the  following  proceedings.  He 
brought  the  bird  into  the  house,  got  a  small  bit  of 
paper  —  printed  paper  was  the  best  —  put  it  into  the 
robin's  bill,  and  held  it  there,  and  addressed  it  thus : 
"Now,  spiddoge,  you  must  swear  an  oath  on  the 
book  in  your  mouth  that  you  will  send  a  blackbird 
or  a  thrush  into  my  crib  for  me ;  if  you  don't  I  will 
kill  you  the  next  time  I  catch  you,  and  I  now  pull 
out  your  tail  for  a  token,  and  that  I  may  know  you 
from  any  other  robin."  The  tail  was  then  pulled 
out,  and  the  spiddoge  let  go  —  generally  up  the  wide 
straight  chimney.  The  boy  well  knew  that  he  dare 
not  carry  out  his  threat,  and  when  he  caught  a 
tailless  robin,  as  there  was  nothing  to  pull  out,  he 
merely  threatened  him  again  and  let  him  go.  In 
very  severe  winters  a  robin  with  a  tail  was  rarely 
to  be  seen. 


44  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


CHAPTEK  1Y 

Good  will  of  the  peasantry  before  1831  —  A  valentine  —  A  jus- 
tice's bulls  —  A  curious  sight  indeed  —  Farms  to  grow  fat 
on — Some  cooks  —  "What  the  Dean  wears  on  his  legs"- 
Blood-thirsty  gratitude  —  Old  servants  and  their  theories. 

FROM  the  year  1826  to  1831  we  lived  on  most 
friendly  terms  with  the  peasantry.  They  appeared 
to  be  devoted  to  us;  if  we  had  been  away  for  a 
month  or  two,  on  our  return  they  met  us  in  numbers 
some  way  from  our  home,  took  the  horses  from  the 
carriage  and  drew  it  to  our  house  amid  deafening 
cheers  of  welcome,  and  at  night  bonfires  blazed  on 
all  the  neighbouring  hills.  In  all  their  troubles  and 
difficulties  the  people  came  to  my  father  for  assist- 
ance. There  was  then  no  dispensary  nor  doctor 
near  us,  and  many  sick  folk  or  their  friends  came 
daily  to  my  mother  for  medicine  and  advice ;  I  have 
often  seen  more  than  twenty  with  her  of  a  morning. 
Our  parish  priest  also  was  a  special  friend  of  ours,  a 
constant  visitor  at  our  home.  In  the  neighbouring 
parishes  the  same  kindly  relations  existed  between 
the  priest  and  his  flock  and  the  Protestant  clergy- 
man. But  in  1831  all  this  was  suddenly  and  sadly 


A    VALENTINE  45 

changed  when  the  tithe  war,  of  which  I  shall  say 
more  by-and-by,  came  upon  us. 

Amongst  our  neighbours  was  a  Mr.  K ,  who 

lived  about  five  miles  from  us,  and  had  a  very  pretty 
daughter,  with  whose  beaut}r  and  brightness  my 
brother,  when  about  nineteen,  was  much  taken.  In 
those  days  it  was  the  custom  on  St.  Valentine's 
Day  for  every  lover  to  send  a  "valentine"  to  the 
lady  of  his  heart,  so  to  Miss  K—  -  he  sent  the 
following :  — 

"  Life  were  too  long  for  me  to  bear 

If  banished  from  thy  view ; 
Life  were  too  short  a  thousand  year, 
If  life  were  passed  with  you. 

"  Wise  men  have  said,  '  Man's  lot  on  earth 

Is  grief  and  melancholy,' 
But  where  thou  art  there  joyous  mirth 
Proves  all  their  wisdom  folly. 

"If  fate  withhold  thy  love  from  me, 

All  else  in  vain  were  given ; 
Heaven  were  imperfect  wanting  thee, 
And  with  thee  earth  were  heaven." 

After  a  few  days  he  wrote  to  her  the  further  lines 
which  follow :  — 

"  My  dear  good  madam, 
You  can't  think  how  very  sad  I'm  ; 
I  sent  you,  or  mistake  myself  foully, 
A  very  excellent  imitation  of  the  poet  Cowley, 


46  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Containing  three  very  fair  stanzas, 
Which  number,  Longinus,  a  very  critical  man,  says, 
And  Aristotle,  who  was  a  critic  ten  times  more  caustic, 
To  a  nicety  fits  a  valentine  or  an  acrostic. 
And  yet  for  all  my  pains  to  this  moving  epistle 
I  have  got  no  answer,  so  I  suppose  I  may  go  whistle. 
Perhaps  you'd  have  preferred  that  like   an  old  monk  I  had 

pattered  on 
In  the  style  and  after  the  manner  of  the  unfortunate  Chat- 

terton ; 

Or  that,  unlike  my  very  reverend  daddy's  son, 
I  had  attempted  the  classicalities  of  the  dull,  though  immortal 

Addison. 

I  can't  endure  this  silence  another  week ; 
What  shall  I  do  in  order  to  make  you  speak  ? 
Shall  I  give  you  a  trope 
In  the  manner  of  Pope, 
Or  hammer  my  brains  like  an  old  smith 
1  i  get  out  something  like  Goldsmith  ? 
Or  shall  I  aspire  on 
The  same  key  touched  by  Byron, 
And  laying  my  hand  its  wire  on, 
With  its  music  your  soul  set  fire  on 
By  themes  you  ne'er  can  tire  on  ? 
Or  say, 
I  pray, 
Would  a  lay 
Like  Gay 

Be  more  in  your  way? 
I  leave  it  to  you, 
Which  am  I  to  do  ? 
It  plain  on  the  surface  is 
That  any  metamorphosis, 
Which  to  effect  you  study, 
You  may  work  on  my  soul  or  body. 


A    VALENTINE  47 

Your  frown  or  your  smile  makes  me  Savage  or  Gay 

In  action,  as  well  as  in  song  ; 
And  if  'tis  decreed  I  at  length  become  Gray, 

Express  but  the  word,  and  I'm  Young. 
And  if  in  the  church  I  should  ever  aspire 

With  friars  and  abbots  to  cope, 
By  a  nod,  if  you  please,  you  can  make  me  a  Prior  — 

By  a  word  you  can  render  me  Pope. 
If  you'd  eat,  I'm  a  Crabbe  ;  if  you'd  cut,  I'm  your  Steel, 

As  sharp  as  you'd  get  from  the  cutler ; 
I'm  your  Cotton  whene'er  you're  in  want  of  a  reel, 
And  your  livery  carry,  as  Butler. 

I'll  ever  rest  your  debtor 
If  you'll  answer  my  first  letter ; 
Or  must,  alas  !  eternity 
Witness  your  taciturnity  ? 
Speak  —  and  oh  !  speak  quickly  — 
Or  else  I  shall  grow  sickly,          ,.. 
And  pine,  >3 

And  whine, 
And  grow  yellow  and  brown 

As  e'er  was  mahogany, 
And  lay  me  down 

And  die  in  agony. 
P.S.  You'll  allow  I  have  the  gift 

To  write  like  the  immortal  Swift." 


There  were  not  many  other  gentry  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood. One  of  those  nearest  to  us  was  Captain 
Evans,  of  Ashroe,  whose  father  had  recently  died. 
He  had  been  a  man  of  little  education,  but  a  stirring 
magistrate  during  the  disturbances  which  had  oc- 
curred some  time  previously.  Many  stories  were 


48  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

told  of  him.  It  was  said  that  in  forwarding  bis 
reports  on  the  state  of  the  country  to  the  authorities 
in  Dublin  Castle,  he  always  began  his  letter,  "My 
dear  Government."  In  one  of  these  reports  he  said, 
"  You  may  rely  on  it,  I  shall  endeavour  to  put  down 
all  nocturnal  meetings,  whether  by  day  or  by  night." 
It  was  also  told  that  in  committing  a  man  for  climb- 
ing over  his  garden  wall,  he  added  the  following 
words  to  the  charge :  — "  He  did  there  and  then 
feloniously  say  that  he  would  be  damned  if  he 
wouldn't  climb  over  it  as  often  as  he  pleased."  I 
forget  whether  it  was  he  who  was  foreman  of  a  jury 
in  a  libel  case,  in  which  the  libel  was  that  the 
plaintiff  had  been  accused  of  stealing  a  goose.  The 
verdict  of  the  jury  was,  "  We  find  for  the  plaintiff, 
with  damages,  the  price  of  a  goose." 

Another  neighbour  of  ours  was  the  Kev.  George 
Madder,  Kector  of  Ballybrood,  an  old  bachelor,  who 
lived  with  a  maiden  sister,  an  elderly  lady,  solemn 
and  stately,  whom  he  held  in  great  awe.  She  was 
very  fond  of  flowers.  When  arranging  some  one 
morning  in  the  drawing-room,  she  found  a  curious 
blossom  which  she  had  never  seen  before.  Just  as 
she  discovered  it  her  gardener  passed  the  window, 
which  was  open.  "  Come  in,  James,"  she  called  to 
him ;  "  I  want  to  show  you  one  of  the  most  curious 
things  you  ever  saw."  James  accordingly  came  in. 
Miss  Madder  sat  down,  not  perceiving  that  the 


JUSTICES  BULLS  49 

bottom  of  the  chair  had  been  lifted  out.  Down 
she  went  through  the  frame,  nearly  sitting  on 
the  floor.  James  went  into  fits  of  laughter,  and 
said,  "Well,  ma'am,  sure  enough,  it  is  one  of  the 
most  curious  things  I  ever  seen  in  my  life." 
"  Stop,  James,"  said  she ;  "  conduct  yourself,  and 
lift  me  out."  "  Oh,  begorra,  ma'am.  I  can't  stop," 
said  he ;  "  it's  so  curious ;  it  bates  all  I  ever  seen." 
It  was  some  time  before  she  could  make  him  un- 
derstand that  her  performance  was  not  what  he 
had  been  called  in  to  see ;  and  when  he  had  helped 
her  up,  he  was  dismissed  with  a  strong  rebuke  for 
his  levity. 

Mr.  Madder  was  very  fond  of  riding.  He  had 
bought  a  spirited  young  horse,  which  ran  away  with 
him  and  threw  him ;  but  he  escaped  with  a  few 
bruises.  Shortly  afterwards  my  father  met  him, 
and  said,  "  I  hope,  Madder,  you  are  none  the  worse 
for  your  fall."  "  I'm  all  right,  thank  you,  Dean," 
said  he.  "And  how  is  Miss  Madder?"  said  my 
father ;  "  she  must  have  got  a  fright."  "  She  is 
quite  well,"  said  he,  "  but  rather  skittish,  rather 
skittish."  He  was  rather  deaf,  and  thought  my 
father  was  inquiring  for  the  mare,  not  for  Miss 
Madder.  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  was  she  who, 
when  my  father,  at  dinner,  had  helped  her  to  turkey, 
at  once  said  to  him,  "  Sir,  did  you  ever  see  a  dean 
stuffed  with  chestnuts  I "  meaning  of  course  to  have 


SO  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

asked,  "  Mr.  Dean,  did  you  ever  see  a  turkey  stuffed 
with  chestnuts  ? " 

Two  of  our  more  distant  neighbours  were  Consicline 
of  Dirk  and  Croker  of  Ballingard,  both  men  of  con- 
siderable property,  and  each  having  in  his  hands 
a  large  farm.  It  was  a  moot  point  which  held  the 
richer  land ;  each  maintained  the  superiority  of  his 
own.  At  one  time  Considine  had  a  farm  to  let.  A 
man  from  the  county  of  Kerry,  where  the  land  is 
very  poor,  came  to  see  it,  with  a  view  of  becoming 
tenant.  "  My  good  man,"  said  Considine,  "  I  don't 
think  you  are  the  man  to  take  a  farm  like  this.  It 
is  not  like  your  miserable  Kerry  land,  where  a 
mountain  sheep  can  hardly  get  enough  to  eat.  You 
don't  know  how  the  grass  grows  here !  It  grows  so 
fast  and  so  high,  that  if  you  left  a  heifer  out  in  that 
field  there  at  night,  you  would  scarcely  find  her  in 
the  morning."  "  Bedad,  yer  honour,"  replied  the 
Kerry  man,  "  there's  many  a  part  of  my  own  county 
where,  if  you  left  a  heifer  out  at  night,  the  devil 
a  bit  of  her  you'd  ever  see  again ! " 

In  a  dispute  as  to  the  comparative  merits  of  their 
farms,  "  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Considine,  "  an  acre 
of  Dirk  would  fatten  a  bullock."  "Don't  tell 
me!"  said  Croker;  "an  acre  of  Ballingard  would 
fatten  a  bullock  and  a  sheep."  ""What  is  that  to 
Dirk?"  said  the  other;  "I  tell  you  an  acre  of 
Dirk  would  fatten  Spaight  of  Limerick."  Spaight 


5* 

was  a  merchant  in  Limerick,  the  thinnest  man  in 
the  county. 

This  reminds  me  of  a  story  recently  told  me  of  a 
Roman  Catholic  bishop,  one  of  the  most  agreeable 
men  in  Ireland.  Cardinal  Manning,  who  was,  as  we 
all  know,  as  thin  and  emaciated  as  "  Spaight  of 
Limerick,"  when  in  Liverpool  was  visiting  a  convent 
where  an  Irishwoman  was  cook.  She  begged  and 
prayed  for  the  blessing  of  the  cardinal.  The  lady 
superior  presented  the  request  to  him,  with  which  he 
kindly  complied.  The  cook  was  brought  in,  knelt 
down  before  him,  and  received  his  blessing ;  where- 
upon she  looked  up  at  him,  and  said,  "  May  the  Lord 
preserve  your  Eminence,  and  oh,  may  God  forgive 
your  cook ! " 

Apropos  of  cooks,  I  may  here  mention  one  who 
lived  with  my  grandmother,  and  had  formerly  been 
cook  to  a  Mrs.  Molloy,  a  lady  who  was  housekeeper 
to  the  Irish  House  of  Lords,  and  who  had  recently 
died.  The  cook  never  ceased  talking  of  Mrs.  Molloy, 
holding  her  up  to  the  fellow-servants  as  the  highest 
authority  on  all  points,  saying,  "  Mrs.  Molloy 
wouldn't  have  done  this,"  or  "  Mrs.  Molloy  wouldn't 
have  allowed  that."  This  irritated  the  servants,  and 
one  day,  as  she  was  holding  forth  in  this  way,  the 
butler  said  to  her,  "  For  God's  sake,  let  the  woman 
rest  in  her  grave ! "  She  drew  herself  up  with  much 
dignity,  and  said,  "  Mrs.  Molloy  was  no  woman ;  she 


52  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

was  a  lady ;  and  I'll  not  let  her  rest  in  her  grave  for 
you  or  for  any  man."  She  described  Mrs.  Molloy's 
splendour  when  going  to  the  castle,  "  with  a  turbot 
on  her  head,  with  beautiful  oxe's  feathers  in  it."  It 
was  she  who,  hearing  her  mistress  tell  the  kitchen- 
maid  to  say  "  peas,"  not  "  pays,"  said  to  her,  "  Don't 
mind  her;  say  'pays,'  as  your  honest  mother  and 
father  did  before  you." 

Another  neighbour  of  ours  was  a  retired  barrister, 
named  Holland,  -a  pompous  old  gentleman,  who 
lived  at  Bally voreen,  about  two  miles  from  us. 

One  Saturday  afternoon  two  of  my  father's 
gaiters,  both  for  the  same  leg,  had  been  sent  for 
repair  to  one  Halloran,  a  shoemaker  in  the  village  of 
Murroe,  not  far  off,  with  strict  orders  to  him  to 
mend  one,  at  least,  of  them  that  evening,  and  send 
it  home  early  next  morning.  It  was  near  eleven 
o'clock  on  Sunday  morning  —  service  began  at 
twelve — and  the  gaiters  had  not  arrived,  so  the 
servant  told  the  stable-boy,  a  wild-looking  youth, 
and  as  wild  as  he  looked,  to  run  off  as  fast  as  he 
could  to  Halloran's,  and  to  bring  the  gaiters,  done 
or  undone  —  not  to  come  without  them.  "  What  is 
a  gaiter  ? "  said  the  boy.  "  What  the  Dean  wears 
on  his  legs,"  said  the  servant.  The  boy  thought  the 
man  had  said  Holland's,  not  Halloran's,  and  so  off 
he  ran  to  Ballyvoreen,  rang  violently  at  the  hall 
door,  and,  when  a  servant  appeared,  said,  "  Give  me 


RETRIBUTIVE  GRATITUDE  53 

what  the  Dane  wears  on  his  legs."  '"  What  do  you 
mean  ? "  said  the  servant.  "  I  mane  what  I  say,  and 
I  must  get  it,  done  or  undone,  so  you  may  as  well 
give  it  to  me  at  once."  Mr.  Holland,  hearing  loud 
voices  in  the  hall,  came  out  and  asked  what  the 
noise  was  about.  "  Give  me,"  said  the  boy,  "  what 
the  Dane  wears  on  his  legs."  "  The  boy  is  mad," 
said  Holland.  "  I'm  not  mad.  I  must  have  it,  done 
or  undone,  and  I  wonder  at  a  gentleman  of  your 
affluence  refusing  to  give  it  up  ;  but  it's  no  use  for 
you,  for  I  won't  go  till  I  get  it."  Supposing  him  to 
be  a  lunatic,  Holland  shut  the  door,  and  the  boy  had 
finally  to  go  home.  Meantime  Halloran  had  sent 
the  gaiters  in  time  for  my  father  to  wear  them 
going  to  church. 

Some  years  after  this  the  same  boy  acted  as  my 
fishing  attendant  or  gillie,  and,  later  on,  when  I  was 
in  Dublin,  wrote  to  me  to  say  that  he  was  anxious 
to  emigrate  to  America,  and  begging  that  I  would 

O  o  o        o 

send  him  a  little  money  to  help  him  to  do  so.  I 
sent  him  a  few  pounds,  and  received  from  him  the 
following  letter :  — 

"  HONOURED  SIR, 

"  God  bless  you  for  what  you  sent  me.  If  I  gets  on  I'll  send 
as  much  back;  but  if  I  dies,  plaze  God  I'll  meet  you  in  the 
Lizzum  fields,  and  pay  your  honour  then.  But  any  way  you 
always  have  the  prayers  of  your  humble  servant, 

"  MICHAEL  BRIEX. 

"P.  S.  —  Is  there  anv  one  here  that  ever  done  anything  to 


54  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

injure  or  offend  you,  that  your  honour  would  like  anything  to 
be  done  to?  I'd  like  to  do  something  for  your  honour  before  I 
goes,  to  show  how  thankful  I  am." 

When  speaking  of  our  coachman,  the  amateur 
surgeon,  I  forgot  to  mention  that  he  loved  to  bring 
in  a  few  French  words,  which  he  had  picked  up  in 
his  travels.  One  day  as  he  drove  across  a  ford  on 
the  Bilboa  river,  near  Doon,  seeing  that  my  mother 
was  rather  frightened,  he  turned  to  her  and  said, 
"  Never  fear,  madam ;  but,  indeed,  if  you  had  a 
faux  pas  of  a  coachman  instead  of  me  you  might 
be  drowned."  Another  day  he  had  been  telling  me 
of  a  robbery  of  a  large  quantity  of  plate  from  Mr. 
Loyd's  house  at  Tower  Hill.  "  I  wonder,"  I  said  to 
him,  "  how  they  disposed  of  all  that  plate."  "  You 
may  be  sure,"  he  said,  "  they  sent  it  up  to  them 
connoisseurs  in  Dublin." 

My  father's  sexton  was  named  Young  —  a  queer 
old  fellow  too.  When  asked  his  name  by  any  one, 
his  invariable  reply  was,  "  Well,  sir,  I'm  Young  by 
name,  but  old  by  nature."  One  Sunday  morning  in 
the  vestry  room  my  father  could  not  find  his  stole. 
"  This  is  most  provoking,"  said  he ;  "  the  congre- 
gation will  wonder  why  I  do  not  wear  it  to-day." 
"  Let  them  wonder,"  said  Young ;  "  but  what  does  it 
signify  if  your  raverence  had  not  a  tack  upon  you, 
so  long  as  you  preach  a  good  sermon  ? " 

Another  day  one  of  the  parishioners  having  died 


A    GRATEFUL  POACHER  55 

very  suddenly,  my  father  said  to  him,  "  How  terribly 
sudden  the  death  of  poor  Keys  was !  "  "  Ah  !  your 
raverence,"  said  he,  "  the  Lord  gave  that  poor  man 
no  sort  of  fair  play." 

In  ploughing  a  field  near  the  rectory,  some  old 
coins  had  been  found ;  when  Young  saw  some  of 
them  he  said  he  did  not  think  they  could  be  very 
old,  for  "  Don't  you  see  the  family  of  the  Eexes  was 
on  the  throne  when  thev  were  made  ? " 

•/ 

The  same  mistake  has  been  made  by  others. 
Darwin  mentions  that  when  in  Chili  he  found  a 
Cornish  man,  who  was  settled  there,  who  thought 
that  "  Rex  "  was  the  name  of  the  reigning  family. 

My  nurse,  who  still  lived  with  us,  said  she  was 
sure  the  coins  must  have  been  hid  there  by  the 
bishops.  "What  bishops?"  I  asked  her.  "The 
bishops  that  conquered  Ireland  long  ago,"  said  she. 
On  my  telling  her  that  bishops  had  never  conquered 
this  country,  "  Well,"  said  she,  "  it  must  have  been 
the  danes  (deans),  or  clergy  of  some  sort." 

When  first  we  were  at  Abington,  a  peasant 
girl  came  two  or  three  times  to  the  rectory  with 
a  hare  and  other  game  for  sale.  My  father  wish- 
ing to  ascertain  whether  she  came  by  them 
honestly,  asked  her  where  she  got  them.  "  Sure, 
your  raverence,"  said  she,  "  my  father  is  poacher 
to  Lord  Clare." 

Something  of  the   same   sort   occurred  five   and 


56  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

twenty  years  later.  When  I  was  engaged  as  engineer 
on  the  railway  from  Mallow  to  Fermoy,  then  in 
course  of  construction,  a  friend  asked  me  to  get 
employment  for  a  man  who  lived  near  Doneraile, 
in  whom  he  felt  an  interest.  I  succeeded  in  getting 
him  a  good  post  under  the  contractor ;  he  wrote  me 
a  letter  full  of  gratitude.  He  had  no  doubt  heard 
that  I  was  fond  of  fishing,  and  must  have  thought 
that  what  I  liked  best  was  eating  the  trout,  not 
catching  them,  for  to  his  letter  was  added  the 
following  postscript :  "  I  understand  your  honour  is 
fond  of  trouts,  so  I  hopes  before  long  to  send  your 
honour  some  good  ones,  for  I  do,  sometimes,  draw 
my  Lord  Doneraile's  preserves  by  night."  Lord 
Doneraile  very  strictly  preserved  his  part  of  the 
Awbey  river  (Spencer's  gentle  Mullagh),  which  is 
famous  for  the  size  and  beauty  of  its  trout. 

It  was  in  the  year  1838  that  Father  Mathew,  one 
of  the  simplest  minded  men  I  have  ever  known, 
began  his  noble  temperance  work,  which  soon  was 
crowned  with  such  marvellous  and  unparalleled 
success.  I  have  seen  several  of  his  monster  meet- 
ings, where  thousands  took  the  pledge ;  many  of  the 
great  processions  too,  marching  to  meetings.  As 
one  of  these  with  bands  and  banners  passed  through 
Sackville  Street,  a  tipsy  man,  leaning  with  his  back 
to  the  railings,  was  gazing  at  it  with  a  contemptuous 
stare,  and  as  my  brother  and  I  passed  by  him  we 


TEMPERANCE   WORK  57 

heard  him  say,  "  What  are  they  after  all  ?  what  are 
they  but  a  pack  of  cast  drunkards  ? " 

Another  drunken  man,  whom  a  friend  was  trying 
to  bring  to  his  home  some  miles  away,  was  con- 
stantly crossing  from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the 
other,  so  his  friend  said  to  him,  "  Come  on,  Pat,  come 
on;  the  road  is  long."  "I  know  it  is  long,"  said 
Pat ;  "  but  it  isn't  the  length  of  it,  but  the  breadth 
of  it  that  is  killing  me." 

It  was  only  a  few  months  ago  that  I  was  told  of  a 
man,  in  like  condition,  who  was  knocked  down  by 
the  buffer  of  an  engine,  which  was  shunting  some 
waggons,  near  Bray  station.  He  was  stunned  for  a 
moment,  but  very  slightly  hurt.  The  porters  ran  to 
his  assistance.  One  of  them  said,  "  Bring  him  to  the 
station  at  once."  He  thought  they  meant  the  police 
station.  "What  do  you  want  to  take  me  to  the 
station  for  ? "  said  he.  "  You  know  who  I  am ;  and 
if  I  have  done  any  damage  to  your  b —  -  machine, 
sure  I'm  able  to  pay  for  it ! " 


58  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


CHAPTER  V 

The  tithe  war  of  1831:  the  troops  come  to  our  village  —  A 
marked  man  —  ' '  Push  on ;  they  are  going  to  kill  ye !  "  —  Not 
his  brother's  keeper  —  Boycotting  in  the  thirties  —  None  so 
dead  as  he  looked  —  Lord  Cloncurry's  manifesto  —  A  fulfilled 
prophecy. 

IN  1831  came  the  tithe  war,  and  with  it  our 
friendly  relations  with  the  priests  and  people  ceased. 
The  former,  not  unnaturally,  threw  themselves  heart 
and  soul  into  the  agitation.  The  Protestant  clergy 
were  denounced  by  agitators  and  priests  from  plat- 
form and  from  altar,  and  branded  as  the  worst 
enemies  of  the  people,  who  were  told  to  hunt  them 
like  mad  dogs  from  the  country ;  they  were  insulted 
wherever  they  went,  many  were  attacked,  some 
were  murdered.  It  is  hard  now  to  realize  the  sud- 
denness with  which  kindness  and  good-will  were 
changed  to  insult  and  hate;  for  a  short  time  we 
were  not  so  badly  treated  as  some  of  the  neighbour- 
ing clergy,  but  the  people  would  not  speak  to  us,  and 
scowled  at  us  as  we  passed. 

Of  Doon,  a  parish  which  adjoined  Abington,  our 
cousin,  the  Rev.  Charles  Coote,  was  rector.  At  the 
very  commencement  of  the  agitation  he  had  given 


THE   TITHE   WAR  59 

much  offence  by  taking  active  measures  to  enforce 
the  payment  of  his  tithes.  It  was  thus  his  light 
began.  He  had  for  years  been  on  the  most  intimate 

and  friendly  terms  with  Father  II ,  the  parish 

priest,  who  held  a  considerable  farm,  for  which  Mr. 
Coote  would  never  allow  him  to  pay  tithe.  When 
the  agitation  against  tithes  began,  Father  H— 
preached  a  fierce  sermon  against  them,  denouncing 
Mr.  Coote  from  the  altar,  telling  the  people  that 
any  man  who  paid  one  farthing  of  that  "  blood- 
stained impost"  was  a  traitor  to  his  country  and 
his  God.  "  Take  example  by  me,  boys,"  he  said ; 
"  I'd  let  my  last  cow  be  seized  and  sold  before  I'd 
pay  a  farthing  to  that  scoundrel  Coote."  On  hear- 
ing of  this,  Mr.  Coote  wrote  to  ask  him  whether  the 
report  he  had  heard  was  true ;  he  replied  that  he 
was  proud  to  say  that  it  was  true,  adding,  "  You 
may  seize  and  sell  my  cattle  if  you  can,  but  I'd  like 
to  see  the  man  that  would  buy  them."  Coote,  who 
was  a  brave  and  determined  man,  was  so  indignant 
that  he  resolved  to  fight  it  out  with  the  priest.  He 
gave  orders  to  his  bailiff,  and  next  morning  at  break 
of  day,  before  any  one  dreamt  that  he  would  make 
the  attempt,  one  of  the  priest's  cows  was  taken  and 
impounded.  Public  notice  was  given  that,  "on  a 
day  and  hour  named,  the  cow  would  be  sold  in 
Doon ;  counter  notices  were  posted  through  the 
country  telling  the  people  to  assemble  in  their 


60  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

thousands  to  see  Father  H—  — 's  cow  sold.  Mr. 
Coote  went  to  Dublin  to  consult  the  authorities  at 
the  Castle,  and  returned  next  day,  with  a  promise 
from  the  Government  that  they  would  support  him. 

Early  on  the  morning  fixed  for  the  sale  I  was 
sitting  at  an  open  window  in  our  breakfast-room, 
when  my  attention  was  roused  by  the  sound  of 
bagpipes  playing  "The  Campbells  are  Coming." 
On  looking  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound  came, 
I  saw  four  companies  of  Highlanders,  headed  by 
their  pipers,  marching  down  the  road,  followed  by  a 
troop  of  lancers  and  artillery  with  two  guns. 

On  this  little  army  went  to  Doon,  where  many 
thousands  of  the  country  people  were  assembled. 
At  the  appointed  hour  the  cow  was  put  up  for  sale. 
There  was  a  belief  then  prevalent  among  the  people 
that  at  a  sale  unless  there  were  at  least  three 
bidders,  nothing  could  be  sold  ;  under  this  mistaken 
idea,  a  friend  of  the  priest  bid  a  sum,  much  beyond 
her  value,  for  the  cow;  she  was  knocked  down  to 
him,  he  was  obliged  to  hand  the  money  to  the 
auctioneer,  and  the  tithe  was  paid.  During  all  this 
time,  except  shouting,  hooting  at  the  soldiers,  and 
"  groans  for  Coote,"  nothing  was  done ;  but  when 
the  main  body  of  the  troops  had  left  the  village 
shots  were  fired,  and  volleys  of  stones  were  thrown 
at  four  of  the  lancers  who  had  remained  after  the 
others  as  a  rear  guard.  They  fired  their  pistols  at 


THE  TITHE   WAR  61 

their  assailants,  one  of  whom  was  wounded.  The 
rest  of  the  lancers,  hearing  the  shots,  galloped  back 
and  quickly  dispersed  the  crowd.  It  was  weary 
work  for  the  troops,  as  the  day  was  very  hot  and 
bright,  and  their  march  to  and  from  Doon  was  a 
long  one,  that  village  being  certainly  not  less  than 
fifteen  miles  from  Limerick.  On  their  return  they 
bivouacked  and  dined  in  a  field  close  to  us,  sur- 
rounded by  crowds  of  the  peasantry,  many  of  whom 
had  never  seen  a  soldier  before ;  after  a  brief  rest 
the  pipes  struck  up,  "  The  Campbells  are  Coming," 
and  they  were  on  their  march  again.  So  ended  this, 
to  us,  memorable  day. 

The  next  morning,  as  we  were  at  breakfast,  the 
room  door  opened;  an  old  man  came  in;  he  fell  on 
his  knees  and  cried,  "  Oh,  wirasthru,  my  little  boy 
is  killed,  my  boy  is  shot !  Sure  the  craythur  was 
doin'  nothing  out  of  the  way  when  the  sogers  shot 
him.  Oh,  Vo !  Vo !  What  will  I  ever  do  widout 
my  little  boy !  "  "  What  can  I  do  for  you,  my  poor 
man?"  said  my  father.  "Ah!  then  it's  what  I 
want  your  honour  to  give  me  a  bit  of  note  that'U 
get  him  into  the  hospital  in  Limerick." 

My  father  at  once  gave  him  the  order  for  his 
son's  admission.  He  departed  invoking  blessings 
on  us,  and  shedding  tears  of  gratitude. 

As  we  afterwards  found,  the  "little  boy"  was  a 
youth  of  six  and  twenty,  who  had  got  a  slight  flesh 


62  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

wound  in  the  leg.  They  never  brought  him  to  the 
hospital,  but  they  paraded  him,  all  day,  through  the 
streets  of  Limerick,  lying  in  a  cart,  covered  with  a 
blood-stained  sheet ;  to  the  back  of  the  cart  a  board 
was  fixed,  on  which,  in  large  letters,  was  this 
inscription,  "  THESE  AKE  THE  BLESSINGS  OF  TITHES." 
From  that  day  Mr.  Coote  was  a  marked  man. 

Wherever  he  or  any  of  his  family  were  seen 
they  were  received  with  shouts  and  yells,  and  cries 
of  "  Mad  dog !  mad  dog !  To  hell  with  the  tithes ! 
Down  with  the  tithes ! "  One  afternoon,  when  we 
returned  from  a  visit  to  the  rectory  at  Doon,  we 
received  a  message  from  our  parish  priest  to  say 
that  if  we  went  there  any  more  we  should  be  treated 
as  the  Cootes  were.  Accordingly  on  our  return 
from  our  next  visit  to  them,  shouts  and  curses  fol- 
lowed us  all  the  way  home  ;  from  that  day  forward, 
when  any  of  us  (or  even  our  carriage  or  car)  was 
seen,  the  same  shouts  and  cursing  were  heard  in  all 
directions.  On  one  occasion  this  gave  rise  to  an 
incident  which  amused  us  much.  Anster,  a  poet 
popular  in  Dublin,  and  well  known  there  as  the 
translator  of  Goethe's  "  Faust,"  and  author  of  many 
pretty  poems,  came  to  spend  a  few  days  with  us. 
As  he  drove  from  Limerick  on  our  car,  the  usual 
shouting  followed  him;  being  slightly  deaf,  he 
heard  the  shouts  only,  not  the  words  of  threatening 
and  abuse.  At  dinner,  with  a  beaming  countenance, 


THE   TITHE    WAR  63 

he  said  to  my  father,  "  Mr.  Dean,  I  never  knew  1 
was  so  well  known  down  here,  but  one's  fame  some- 
times travels  further  than  we  think.  I  assure  you. 
nearly  the  whole  way  as  I  drove  from  Limerick  1 
was  loudly  cheered  by  the  people."  When  we  told 
him  what  the  cheering  was,  the  form  of  his  visage 
changed. 

At  this  time  none  of  us  went  out  alone,  and  we 
were  always  well  armed.  This  the  people  knew, 
and  did  not  actually  attack  any  of  us  except  on  two 
occasions.  On  one  of  these  my  sister,  who  till  a  few 
months  before  had  been  idolized  by  the  people  for 
her  goodness  to  them  and  untiring  work  amongst 
them,  thought  that  if  she  and  two  girls,  cousins, 
who  were  with  us  at  the  time,  drove  out  by  them- 
selves, they  would  not  be  molested,  especially  as 
she  had  recently  been  in  very  delicate  health.  So 
taking  advantage  of  an  hour  when  the  rest  of  the 
family  were  out,  they  went  for  a  drive,  when  not 
only  were  they  received  with  the  usual  hooting,  but 
were  pelted  with  mud  and  stone.  One  of  the  girls 
had  a  front  tooth  broken,  and  they  were  glad  to 
get  home  without  further  injury,  and  never  again 
ventured  to  go  out  without  protection. 

The  other  attack  happened  thus.  My  father  had 
been  persuaded  by  some  friends  to  try  whether 
offering  a  large  abatement,  and  giving  time,  might 
induce  some  of  the  farmers  to  pay  at  least  some  part 


64  SEVENTY  YEARS   OF  IRISH  LIFE 

of  the  tithes  then  due.  A  number  of  circulars 
offering  such  terms  were  prepared.  These  my 
cousin,  Robert  Flemyng,  and  1  (little  more  than 
boys  at  the  time)  undertook  to  distribute,  and  to 
explain  the  terms  to  the  farmers  whose  houses  we 
proposed  to  visit.  On  our  first  day's  ride  nothing 
worth  mentioning  beyond  the  usual  hooting  oc- 
curred. Some  of  the  houses  were  shut  against  us 
as  the  inmates  saw  us  approach;  at  some  few  we 
were  not  uncivilly  received,  but  were  distinctly  told 
that  under  no  circumstances  would  one  farthing  of 
tithes  ever  be  paid  again. 

On  the  following  day  we  rode  to  a  different  part 
of  the  parish,  to  visit  some  farmers  in  the  direction 
of  Limerick.  As  we  turned  off  the  main  road 
down  a  by-road  leading  to  the  village  of  Kishiquirk, 
we  saw  a  man  standing  on  a  hillock  holding  in  his 
hands  a  spade,  high  in  air,  then  lowering  the  spade 
and  giving  a  shrill  whistle,  then  holding  up  the 
spade  again.  We  knew  this  must  be  a  signal,  but 
for  what  we  couldn't  think.  When  we  reached  the 
village,  a  considerable  and  very  threatening  crowd 
was  collected  there,  who  saluted  us  with  "  Down 
with  the  Orangemen !  Down  with  the  tithes ! " 
As  this  looked  like  mischief,  we  drew  our  pistols 
from  our  pockets,  and  each  holding  one  in  his  right 
hand,  we  rode  slowly  through  the  throng.  As  we 
got  near  the  end  of  the  village  a  woman  called  to 


A  NARROW  SHAVE  65 

us,  "What  are  ye  riding  so  slow  for?  Push  on,  I 
tell  you ;  they  are  going  to  kill  ye ! "  We  did  push 
on,  and  with  some  difficulty,  by  riding  one  after  the 
other,  got  past  a  cart  which  was  hastily  drawn 
across  the  road  to  stop  us.  On  we  galloped,  showers 
of  stones  after  us  as  we  went.  About  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  further  on  another  but  smaller  crowd  awaited 
us ;  they  were  not  on  the  road,  but  just  inside  the 
mound  fence  which  bordered  it.  On  this  mound 
they  had  made  ready  a  good  supply  of  stones  for 
our  reception,  but,  seeing  us  hold  our  pistols  towards 
them,  they  did  not  venture  to  throw  the  stones  till 
just  as  we  had  passed  them,  when  they  came  after 
us  volley  after  volley.  Many  a  blow  we  and  our 
horses  got,  but  none  that  stunned.  One  man  only 
was  on  the  road,  and,  as  we  got  near  him,  I  saw  him 
settling  his  spade  in  his  hand  as  if  to  be  ready  to 
strike  a  blow.  I  presented  my  pistol  at  him.  "  Don't 
shoot  me,"  he  called  out ;  "  I'm  only  working  here." 
But  just  as  I  passed  him  he  made  a  tremendous 
blow  at  me ;  it  missed  me,  but  struck  the  horse  just 
behind  the  saddle.  The  spade  was  broken  by  the 
violence  of  the  blow.  Down  went  the  horse  on  his 
haunches,  but  was  quickly  up  again,  and  on  we 
went.  Had  he  fallen,  I  should  not  have  been  alive 
many  minutes;  he  brought  me  bravely  home,  but 
never  recovered,  and  died  soon  afterwards. 

As  we  neared  our  house  we  met  a  funeral,  headed 


66  SEVENTY  YEARS   OF  IRISH  LIFE 

by  the  Roman  Catholic  curate  of  the  parish.  We 
rode  up  to  him,  covered  as  we  and  our  horses  were 
with  mud  and  blood,  in  the  vain  hope  that  he  would 
say  some  words  of  exhortation  to  the  people.  "  See," 

we  said,  "  Father  M ,  how  we  have  been  treated 

when  we  were  on  a  peaceful  and  friendty  mission  to 
some  of  your  flock."  "  I  suppose,"  said  he,  "  ye  were 
unwelcome  visitors."  "  Is  that  any  reason,"  said  I, 
"that  they  should  try  to  murder  us?"  "It's  no 
business  of  mine,"  said  he,  and  passed  on. 

A  proclamation,  as  fruitless  as  such  proclamations 
then  were,  and  now  are,  was  issued  by  the  Govern- 
ment, offering  a  reward  to  any  one  who  would  give 
such  information  as  would  lead  to  the  conviction  of 
any  of  the  men  who  had  attacked  us.  It  was  well 
we  had  not  gone  that  day  to  visit  a  farmer  in  another 
direction,  where,  as  we  afterwards  learned,  four 
armed  men  lay  in  wait,  in  a  plantation  by  the  road, 
to  shoot  us. 

Mr.  Coote  was  much  surprised  when  he  heard 
all  this.  He  had  always  said,  "  Let  them  shout  and 
hoot  as  they  will,  in  their  hearts  they  like  us  too 
well  to  shoot  either  you  or  me,  or  any  one  belonging 
to  us."  A  few  weeks  later  he  was  painfully  un- 
deceived. As  he  rode  home  from  church  he  stopped 
his  horse,  as  he  had  often  done  before,  to  let  him 
take  a  mouthful  of  water  from  a  little  stream  which 
crossed  the  road;  he  had  scarcely  stopped  when  a 


BOYCOTTING  BEFORE  BOYCOTT  67 

thundering  report,  which  nearly  deafened  him,  and 
a  cloud  of  smoke  came  from  a  little  grove  close 
beside  him.  The  blunderbuss  which  had  been  aimed 
at  him  had  burst:  its  shattered  remains,  a  half- 
emptied  bottle  of  whisky,  and  a  quantity  of  blood 
were  found  in  the  grove.  Hearing  of  this,  I  went 
next  day  to  see  him.  Never  did  I  see  a  man  more 
saddened  and  disappointed.  He  said,  "  I  would  not 
have  believed  it  would  ever  come  to  this." 

Boycotting,  supposed  to  be  a  recent  invention 
(in  reality  only  new  in  name),  was  put  in  force 
against  the  clergy,  to  whom  the  people  were  for- 
bidden to  speak.  Placards  were  posted  all  through 
the  neighbourhood  ordering  that  no  one  should 
work  for  Mr.  Coote  on  pain  of  death. 

There  lived  near  Doon  six  stalwart  young  fellows, 
brothers,  named  Lysaght,  whom  some  years  pre- 
viously, Mr.  Coote,  being  fully  convinced  of  their 
innocence,  had  by  his  exertions  saved  from  transpor- 
tation, to  which,  on  perjured  evidence,  they  had  been 
sentenced.  The  real  culprits  were  afterwards  ar- 
rested and  convicted.  These  six  fellows  were  deter- 
mined to  work  for  their  benefactor,  so  they,  with 
some  Protestant  parishioners  of  his,  assembled  one 
fine  morning  on  the  bog  of  Doon,  to  cut  his  turf. 
Suddenly  about  mid-day  crowds  of  men  appeared 
crossing  the  bog  from  all  sides  towards  the  workmen, 
shouting  and  firing  shots.  The  turf-cutters  ran  for 


68  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

their  lives  to  the  rectory,  not  waiting  to  put  on  their 
coats.  The  mob  came  on,  tore  up  the  clothes,  de- 
stroyed the  turf  that  had  been  cut,  smashed  the  turf- 
cutting  implements,  and  then  retired  as  they  came, 
with  shouts  and  shots. 

We  were  not  "  boycotted "  to  the  same  extent, 
and  were  allowed  to  cut  our  turf  and  save  our  crops. 
One  morning  we  heard  a  rumour  that  our  labourers, 
who  were  saving  our  hay,  were  to  be  stopped,  and 
we  were  preparing  for  an  attack,  when  our  steward 
said,  "  You  needn't  be  a  morsel  uneasy,  for  it  would 
be  illegal  for  them  to  come  to  annoy  us  without 
giving  us  regular  proper  notice." 

The  Lysaghts,  whom  I  have  mentioned  as  help- 
ing Mr.  Coote  in  his  difficulties,  were  amongst  the 
coolest  and  most  determined  fellows  I  ever  met. 
They  had  been  among  the  bravest  of  the  Reaska- 
wallahs,  and  by  their  prowess  had  often  turned  the 
tide  of  war,  and  won  the  victory  in  their  battles 
with  the  Coffeys. 

One  evening,  just  as  Mr.  Coote  had  got  off  his 
horse  at  his  hall  door,  a  man  ran  up  to  him,  and 
said,  "  Oh,  your  honour,  they  are  murdering  Xed 
Lysaght  there  below  on  the  road  to  Cappamore." 

He  remounted  his  horse  at  once,  and  galloped 
down  the  road,  where  he  found  Lysaght  lying  in 
a  pool  of  blood,  apparently  dead,  and  saw  three 
men  running  away  across  the  fields.  He  jumped 


NOT  DEAD   ALTOGETHER  69 

off  his  horse,  knelt  down  beside  Xed,  and  said, 
"Ah,  my  poor  dear  fellow,  have  they  killed  you?  " 

Ked  opened  his  eyes,  and  sat  up,  blood  stream- 
ing from  his  head  and  face.  "  Thanks  be  to  the 
Lord,  I'm  not  killed  entirely ;  but  they  thought 
I  was.  They  kem  up,  unknownst  to  me,  behind 
me,  and  one  of  them  struck  me  wid  a  stone,  and 
tumbled  me.  As  soon  as  I  was  down  the  three  of 
them  bate  me  wid  sticks  and  stones  till  they  thought 
I  was  dead.  I  didn't  purtind  to  be  dead  too  soon, 
in  dread  they'd  know  I  was  seaming ;  but  when  one 
of  them  gev  me  a  thremendious  crack  on  the  head, 
I  turned  up  my  eyes,  and  '  Och,  dhe  alamon  am ' 
('  God,  take  my  soul '),  says  I,  and  shtiffend  my  legs 
and  my  arms,  and,  begorra,  they  were  full  sure  it's 
what  I  was  dead ;  and,  till  I  heard  your  honour's 
voice,  I  never  opened  an  eye,  or  stirred  hand  or  fut, 
in  dhread  they  might  be  watchin'  me." 

"  Do  you  know  them  I "  asked  Mr.  Coote. 

"  I  partly  guess  who  one  of  them  was ;  but  I 
couldn't  be  too  sure,  for  they  all  had  their  faces 
blackened,"  said  he. 

After  a  few  minutes  Lysaght  was  able,  with  Mr. 
Coote's  help,  to  walk  back  to  the  rectory,  and  in  a 
few  weeks  he  was  as  well  and  strong  as  ever. 

During  the  tithe  war  the  following  characteristic 
circular  was  sent  by  Lord  Cloncurry  to  the  tenants 
on  his  large  property  in  my  father's  parish.  The 


70  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Mr.  Robert  Cassidy  mentioned  was  his  agent,  who 
took  an  active  part  in  the  agitation  against  tithes. 

«  TITHES 

"  Lord  Cloncurry  to  his  Tenants 

"  I  am  told  that  Mr.  Robert  Cassidy  has  advised  you  not  to 
pay  tithes.  I  hope  it  is  not  so,  for  I  never  authorised  him  so  to 
do.  If  tithe  was  abolished  to-morrow,  all  new  leases  would  be 
at  an  increased  rent.  The  poor  man  would  then  be  far  worse 
off  than  under  the  composition,  which  makes  tithe  comparatively 
light  to  the  small  holder  and  potatoe-grower. 

"I  think  Parliament  will  soon  make  a  different  provision 
for  Protestant  clergy,  and  not  call  on  the  Roman  Catholics  to 
pay  them  ;  but  I  hope  the  landlords  will  pay  tithe  for  the 
support  of  the  poor  and  other  useful  purposes;  and,  until  the 
law  be  changed,  I  think  all  honest  and  wise  men  should  obey 
it,  even  in  its  present  offensive  and,  I  must  add,  unjust  state. 
"  Your  affectionate  friend  and  landlord, 

"  CLONCURRY." 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  his  grandson,  the 
present  Lord  Cloncurry,  was  the  first  landlord  in 
Ireland  to  make  a  bold,  and  so  far  successful,  de- 
fence of  his  rights  against  the  "  No  Rent  "  agitation 
of  the  Land  League  on  this  very  same  property. 

During  all  these  troublous  times  the  landlords 
looked  on  with  indifference,  and  showed  little  sym- 
pathy with  the  clergy  in  their  difficulties.  My 
brother  used  to  say,  "Never  mind,  their  time  will 
come ;  rents  will  be  attacked,  as  tithes  are  now, 
with  the  same  machinery,  and  with  like  success." 


RENT  AND   TITHES  71 

His  prophecy  was  laughed  at.  Long  after,  one  who 
had  heard  him  said  to  him,  "  Well,  Le  Fanu,  your 
rent  war  hasn't  come."  All  he  said  was,  '"Twill 
come,  and  soon  too."  And,  as  we  know,  come  it 
did  with  a  vengeance. 

In  1832  Lord  Stanley  (afterwards  Lord  Derby), 
then  Chief  Secretary  for  Ireland,  who  was  a  friend 
of  my  father's,  placed  him  on  a  commission,  ap- 
pointed by  the  Government  to  make  inquiries  and 
investigations  respecting  tithes  with  a  view  to  legis- 
lation. This  necessitated  his  residence  in  or  near 
Dublin  for  a  considerable  time,  so  we  left  Abington 
and  all  our  troubles  there,  and  did  not  return  till 
nearly  three  years  later.  Meantime,  the  tithe  ques- 
tion having  been  settled  by  Parliament,  the  country 
had  settled  down  into  its  normal'  state ;  and  though 
the  old  cordial  relations  with  the  peasantry  never 
could  be  quite  restored,  still,  we  lived  on  friendly 
terms  with  them  till  my  father's  death  in  1845. 


72  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  pleasures  of  coaching  —  I  enter  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin 
—  A  miser  Fellow:  Anecdotes  about  —  Whately,  Archbishop 
of  Dublin,  and  his  legs  —  The  vocative  of  cat  —  Charles 
Lever's  retort  —  Courteous  to  the  Bishop. 

TRAVELLING  in  those  days  —  sixty  years  ago — was 
an  affair  very  different  from  what  it  now  is.  The 
journey  from  Limerick  to  Dublin,  a  distance  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  miles,  was  a  serious  undertak- 
ing. If  you  wanted  a  seat  inside  the  coach,  you  had 
to  secure  it  three  or  four  days  beforehand ;  if  out- 
side, a  day  or  two  before  the  day  on  Avhich  you 
meant  to  travel.  The  day  coach,  which  carried 
seventeen  passengers,  four  inside  and  thirteen  out, 
nominally  performed  the  journey  in  fourteen  hours, 
but  practically  took  two  hours  more.  The  night 
mail,  which  was  very  punctual,  did  it  in  twelve 
hours ;  it  carried  only  eight  passengers,  four  outside 
and  four  in.  Of  the  outside  travellers,  one  sat  on 
the  box  beside  the  coachman,  and  three  on  the  seat 
behind  him.  The  back  of  the  coach  was  occupied 
by  the  mail-bags  and  the  guard,  or  guards  (there 
were  sometimes  two),  who  were  armed  with  brass- 


PLEASURES  OF  COACHING  73 

barrelled  blunderbusses  and  pistols  to  guard  the 
mails,  as  the  mail-coaches  were  occasionally  attacked 
and  robbed.  The  coach  was  comparatively  small, 
and,  with  people  of  any  size,  it  was  a  tight  fit  to 
squeeze  four  into  it.  As  soon  as  the  four  unhappy 
passengers  were  seated,  and  had  put  on  their  night- 
caps, the  first  thing  was  to  arrange  their  legs  so  as 
to  incommode  each  other  as  little  as  possible;  the 
next  was  to  settle  which  of  the  windows  was  to  be 
open,  and  how  much  of  it.  This  was  seldom  settled 
without  a  good  deal  of  bickering  and  dispute.  The 
box-seat,  which  was  the  favourite  in  the  day  coach, 
was  least  sought  for  in  the  mail ;  and  rightly  so,  for 
it  was  hard  to  keep  awake  all  night,  and  if  you  fell 
asleep,  you  couldn't  lean  back  —  there  was  nothing 
to  lean  on  ;  the  box-seat  had  no  back.  If  you  leant 
to  the  right,  you  fell  against  the  coachman,  who 
awoke  you  with  a  shove,  and  requested  you  would 
not  do  that  again  ;  if  you  did  it  again,  he  gave  you 
a  harder  shove,  and  used  some  strong  language.  If 
you  leant  to  your  left,  you  did  it  at  your  peril ;  the 
low  rail  at  the  side  of  the  seat  could  not  prevent 
your  falling  off ;  it  was  only  about  four  inches  high. 
How  often  have  I  wakened  with  a  start,  when  I  was 
all  but  over,  resolved  to  sleep  no  more.  Yain  reso- 
lution !  In  ten  minutes  I  was  fast  asleep  again, 
again  to  be  awakened  with  another  frightful  start; 
and  so  on  for  the  greater  part  of  the  night.  A  few 


74  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

years  later,  when  I  had  constantly  to  travel  by 
night,  I  adopted  the  device  of  strapping  myself  to 
the  seat  with  a  strong  leather  strap. 

Besides  the  two  I  have  mentioned,  there  was  a 
third,  the  Birr  coach,  so  called  because  it  broke  the 
journey  at  the  town  of  Birr,  now  called  Parsonstown 
from  the  family  name  of  Lord  Rosse,  whose  fine 
demesne  and  castle  adjoin  the  town.  This  coach 
took  two  days  to  perform  the  journey,  and  was  on 
that  account  much  patronized  by  ladies,  children, 
and  invalids,  for  whom  the  long  day's  journey  in  the 
day  coach  was  too  fatiguing.  It  was  a  fine  roomy 
vehicle,  carrying  six  inside. 

It  was  by  this  coach  that  most  of  our  party  made 
our  journey  from  Abington  to  Dublin.  My  father, 
with  my  brother,  had  started  a  day  or  two  before 
the  rest  of  the  family,  to  have  things  ready  for  us  in 
Dublin.  We  followed  —  my  mother,  my  sister,  a 
cousin  who  had  been  staying  with  us,  and  myself  - 
inside  the  coach,  with  a  lady  and  gentleman  whom 
we  did  not  know.  On  the  outside  were  my 
.mother's  maid,  a  man-servant,  fifteen  other  pas- 
sengers, and  a  huge  pile  of  luggage  on  the  roof. 
We  got  to  Birr  in  time  for  supper,  and  had  to  be  up 
at  five  next  morning,  as  the  coach  was  to  resume  its 
journey  at  six.  It  was  pitchy  dark  and  snowing 
thickly  when  we  started.  About  four  miles  from 
Birr  the  road  passes  through  a  bog.  As  there  was 


JACKEY  BARRETT  75 

about  seven  inches  of  snow  on  the  ground,  it  was 
not  easy  for  the  coachman  to  see  the  edge  of  the 
road  distinctly.  He  went  too  much  to  one  side, 
the  off  wheels  went  into  a  hollow,  and  in  an  instant 
over  went  the  coach  on  its  side.  The  outside 
passengers  were  flung  into  the  bog,  but  were  saved 
from  injury  by  the  softness  of  the  snow  and  turf  — 
none  of  them  were  hurt ;  while  we  inside  had  our 
hands  and  faces  cut  by  the  broken  glass  of  the 
windows. 

After  walking  a  mile  we  reached  a  cabin,  whose 
inmates  entertained  us  till  the  coach  was  put  upon 
its  legs  again,  fresh  harness  brought  from  Birr,  and 
the  luggage  repacked.  It  was  nearly  four  hours 
before  we  were  on  the  road  again,  and  we  arrived 
five  hours  behind  our  time  in  Dublin.  This  kind  of 
mishap  was  not  uncommon  in  the  good  old  coaching 
days. 

During  our  residence  in  Dublin,  my  brother  and  I 
entered  Trinity  College,  where  we  subsequently  took 
our  degrees ;  but  our  names  being  on  the  country 
list,  we  were  enabled  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
year  to  live  at  Abington,  only  coming  up  periodi- 
cally to  the  examinations  in  the  University. 

Some  years  previously  one  of  the  Fellows,  Doctor 
Barrett,  better  known  as  Jackey  Barrett,  a  remark- 
able character,  had  died.  He  had  been  equally 
famous  as  a  miser  and  a  Hebrew  scholar.  Of  him 


76  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  HUSH  LIFE 

many  a  story  was  told,  well  known  then  to  the 
students.  Many  of  them  are  now  forgotten,  and 
some  at  least  will,  I  hope,  be  new  to  my  readers. 
He  had  never,  it  was  said,  but  once  been  out  of 
Dublin,  rarely  outside  the  College  gates.  He  dined 
at  Commons  ;  his  only  other  meal  was  his  breakfast, 
consisting  of  a  penny  loaf  and  a  halfpennyworth  of 
milk.  Every  morning  he  handed  a  halfpenny  to  the 
old  woman  who  looked  after  his  rooms,  and  sent 
her  out  to  buy  the  milk.  One  frosty  morning  she 
slipped,  fell,  and  broke  her  leg.  She  was  taken  to 
a  hospital,  and  for  once  Barrett  ventured  beyond 
the  College  precincts,  and  went  to  see  her.  "  "Well, 
Mary,"  he  said  to  her,  "do  you  see  me  now,  I 
suppose  the  jug  is  broken,  but  where  is  the  half- 
penny ? " 

As  a  rule  he  prefaced  everything  he  said  with  the 
words,  "  Do  you  see  me  now."  Having  never  been 
in  the  country,  he  had  scarcely  seen  a  bird,  except 
the  sparrows  which  hopped  about  the  College 
courts.  The  only  time  he  was  known  to  have  been 
out  of  Dublin  was  when  he  had  been  summoned  to 
Naas,  in  the  county  of  Kildare,  to  give  evidence  in 
some  law  case.  As  he  stood  in  the  stable-yard  of 
the  inn  he  saw  a  cock  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
yard,  and  addressed  the  ostler  thus  — 

"  My  good  man,  do  you  see  me  now,  what  is  that 
beautiful  bird  over  there  ? " 


"PRESENT!     FIRE!"  77 

Ostler.  "  Ah,  go  away  with  you !  You  know 
what  it  is  as  well  as  I  do." 

Barrett.  "  Indeed  I  do  not ;  and  I'll  be  greatly 
obliged  if  you'll  tell  me." 

Ostler.  "  Ah,  get  out ;  you're  a-humbugging  me  ! 
You  know  well  enough  it's  a  cock." 

Barrett.  "  Is  it,  indeed  ?  I  thank  you  exceed- 
ingly." 

After  his  death,  in  the  margin  of  the  page  in 
Buff  on' s  "Natural  History,"  where  the  cock  is 
described,  there  was  found  in  Barrett's  hand  these 
words  :  "  The  ostler  was  right ;  it  was  a  cock." 

At  a  discussion  at  the  College  Board  as  to  how  to 
get  rid  of  a  huge  heap  of  rubbish  which  lay  in  the 
College  Park,  Barrett  suggested  that  they  should 
dig  a  hole  and  bury  it. 

"  But,  Doctor  Barrett,"  said  they,  "  what  shall 
we  do  with  the  stuff  that  comes  out  of  the  hole  ? " 

"  Do  you  see  me  now,"  said  he ;  "  dig  another 
and  bury  it." 

One  morning  when  a  company  of  the  College 
corps  (volunteers)  were  being  drilled  in  the  College 
Park,  Barret c  happened  to  pass  by.  To  show  re- 
spect  to  him,  as  a  Fellow  of  College,  the  officer  in 
command  gave  the  word  "  Present  arms ! "  when  to 
his  surprise  he  saw  Barrett  tucking  up  his  gown  and 
running  away  as  fast  as  his  legs  would  carry  him. 
Barrett,  on  being  asked  afterwards  why  he  ran 


78  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

away,  said,  "  Well,  do  you  see  me  now,  I  heard  the 
officer  saying  '  Present ! '  and  I  knew  the  next  word 
would  be  '  Fire  ! '  and  if  I  didn't  run  I'd  have  been 
shot." 

At  this  time  he  was  a  great  friend  of  a  brother 
Fellow,  Magee,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Itaphoe,  and 
finally  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  who  was  grandfather 
of  the  late  Archbishop  of  York,  and  was  the  only 
person  to  whom  Barrett  ever  lent  money.  He 
wanted  a  loan  of  five  pounds,  and  went  to  see 
Barrett  in  his  rooms,  who  agreed  to  make  the  loan, 
went  into  his  bedroom,  and  returned  with  an  old 
stocking  full  of  guineas  in  his  hand.  Just  as  he 
came  into  the  room  the  stocking  burst,  and  the 
guineas  were  scattered  on  the  floor.  Magee  stooped 
down  to  help  Barrett  to  pick  them  up. 

"  Stop,  stop,  Magee  !  "  said  he.  "  Do  you  see  me 
now,  get  up  and  stand  on  that  table,  and  I'll  pick 
them  up." 

The  loan  was  then  made,  and  Magee  left  him 
counting  the  guineas. 

A  few  days  afterwards  he  met  him,  and  said,  "  I 
hope,  Barrett,  you  found  your  guineas  all  right  i  " 

"  Well,  do  you  see  me  now,"  said  Barrett,  "  they 
were  all  right  but  one.  One  was  gone  ;  and  maybe 
it  rolled  into  a  mouse-hole,  Magee,  and  maybe  it 
didn't." 

He  afterwards  quarrelled  with   Magee,  and,  de- 


BARRETT  AND  MAGEE  79 

testing  him  as  much  as  he  had  liked  him,  could  not 
bear  to  hear  his  name  mentioned.  When  Magee 
was  made  bishop,  the  other  Fellows  used  to  tease 
Barrett  by  asking  him  whether  he  had  heard  of 
Magee's  promotion.  On  one  such  occasion  he 
replied  — 

"  No,  I  haven't  heard  of  it,  and  moreover  I  don't 
want  to  hear  of  it." 

"  Didn't  you  hear,"  said  they,  "  he  has  been  made 
Bishop  of  Raphoe  ? " 

"Do  you  see  me  now,"  said  Barrett,  "I  don't 
care  if  he  was  made  bishop  of  hell  so  long  as  I  am 
not  in  his  lordship's  diocese." 

Barrett  was  Professor  of  Hebrew.  He  was  ex- 
amining a  class  in  the  Psalms.  One  of  the  students, 
not  knowing  his  work  at  all,  was  prompted  by  one 
Dickinson,  a  good  Hebrew  scholar,  who  sat  next 
him,  and  said  aloud  — 

"  And  the  hills  skipped  like  rams." 

"  Yes,"  said  Barrett,  "  do  you  see  me,  the  hills 
did  skip  like  rams,  but  it  was  Dickinson  that  told 
you  so." 

One  evening  at  a  dinner-party  at  Doctor  Elring- 
ton's  the  conversation  turned  on  Barrett.  My  father 
told  a  story  of  a  gentleman  who  lived  in  a  part  of 
Dublin  far  from  the  College,  who,  on  a  very  cold 
snowing  night,  had  sent  his  son,  a  young  boy,  to 
Doctor  Barrett's  for  a  book  which  he  had  promised 


8o  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

to  lend  him.  The  boy  knocked  at  the  door ;  Barrett 
came  out  of  his  room,  in  which  there  was  no  light, 
and  on  hearing  what  he  wanted,  went  in  again, 
leaving  the  boy  shivering  outside.  He  shortly 
returned  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  and  said,  "  Now, 
go  home  with  this  to  your  father,  tell  him  I  think 
it  is  the  book  he  wants,  for  I  think  I  can  put  my 
hand  on  every  book  in  my  library ;  but  if  it  isn't, 
come  back,  do  you  see  me  now,  and  I'll  light  a 
candle  and  look  for  it."  As  my  father  finished, 
Elrington  said,  "  Mr.  Dean,  I  can  vouch  for  the  truth 
of  that  story,  for  /  was  that  boy." 

A  student  who  lived  in  rooms  on  the  floor  below 
those  of  Doctor  Barrett,  and  who  knew  what  a  miser 
he  was,  and  that  he  would  walk  a  mile  any  day  to 
save  or  get  a  halfpenny,  got  one,  bored  a  hole 
through  it,  and  tied  a  long  thin  thread  to  it,  then 
laid  it  on  a  step  of  the  stairs,  half-way  between  his 
rooms  and  Barrett's,  and  passed  the  thread  under  his 
own  door,  through  a  chink  in  which  he  watched  for 
the  approach  of  the  doctor.  The  latter  soon  emerged 
from  his  room,  and,  as  he  came  down  the  stairs, 
espied  the  halfpenny,  and  at  once  stooped  to  pick  it 
up,  when  a  gentle  pull  at  the  string  brought  it  to  the 
next  step.  There  Barrett  made  another  attempt  to 
catch  it ;  again  it  went  to  the  next  step ;  and  so  on 
to  the  bottom  of  the  flight,  eluding  every  grab  the 
doctor  made  at  it,  till,  by  a  sudden  chuck  at  the 


ARCHBISHOP   WHATELY  81 

thread,  it  disappeared  altogether,  passing  under  the 
student's  door,  while  Barrett  murmured,  "Do  you 
see  me  now,  I  never  saw  such  a  halfpenny  as  that ! " 

It  is  said  that  on  his  death  his  will  was  found 
to  contain  only  the  following  words :  —  "I  leave  every 
thing  I  am  possessed  of  to  feed  the  hungry  and 
clothe  the  naked."  By  the  most  penurious  saving- 
he  had  accumulated  a  considerable  amount  of  money. 
Owing  to  the  terms  of  his  will  legal  difficulties  arose 
as  to  its  disposal,  but  I  believe  most  of  it  ultimately 
went  to  his  poor  relations,  who  were  many. 

When  residing  near  Dublin  my  father  saw  a 
good  deal  of  "VVhately,  who  had  recently  been 
appointed  Archbishop  of  Dublin  in  succession  to 
Magee ;  he  admired  and  liked  him,  and  was  often 
amused  by  his  eccentricities,  one  of  which  was  a 
wonderful  way  he  had  of  throwing  his  legs  about. 
The  late  Chief  Justice  Doherty  told  me  that  at  the 
Privy  Council  he  once  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket 
for  his  handkerchief ;  but  instead  of  it  found  there 
the  foot  of  the  archbishop,  who  happened  that  day 
to  sit  next  him  ! 

Judge  Keogh  told  me  that  he  was  witness  of  the 
following  scene  :  —  the  archbishop  had  a  large  New- 
foundland dog,  of  which  he  was  very  fond.  lie 
often  took  him  into  Stephen's  Green,  the  large 
square  opposite  the  palace,  and  there  made  him 
jump  over  a  stick,  fetch  and  carry,  and  do  other 


8a  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

tricks.  One  day,  when  thus  engaged,  he  had  just 
thrown  a  ball  for  the  dog  to  fetch,  when  the  follow- 
ing dialogue  was  heard  between  two  women  who 
were  standing  at  the  rails  watching  him  :  — 

"  Ah,  then,  Mary,  do  you  know  who  that  is  playin' 
wid  the  dog  ? " 

Mary.  "Troth,  I  don't,  Biddy;  but  he's  a  fine- 
lookin'  man,  whoever  he  is." 

Biddy.   "  That's  the  archbishop,  Mary." 

Mary.  "  Do  you  tell  me  so  ?  God  bless  the  inno- 
cent craythur !  Isn't  he  aisily  amused  ? " 

Biddy.  "  He's  not  our  archbishop  at  all,  Mary ; 
he  is  the  Protestant  archbishop." 

Mary.    "  Oh  !  the  b ould  fool." 

It  is  well-known  that  he  gave  large  sums  in 
charity,  but  made  it  a  boast  that  on  principle  he  had 
never  given  a  farthing  to  a  beggar  in  the  streets. 
He  used  to  tell  of  a  beggar  who  followed  him  ask- 
ing alms,  to  whom  he  said,  "  Go  away  ;  I  never  give 
anything  to  a  beggar  in  the  streets."  The  beggar 
replied,  "  And  where  would  your  reverence  wish  me 
to  wait  on  you  ? " 

At  dinner  parties,  which  he  often  gave  to  the 
clergy  in  his  diocese,  he  was  fond  of  propounding 
paradoxes,  and  as  it  was  well  known  that  he  did  not 
like  any  one  to  try  to  explain  till  he  did  so  himself, 
it  had  become  the  custom  not  to  hazard  a  remark, 
until  it  pleased  his  Grace  to  expound.  At  one  of 


CAT— PUSS  I  83 

the  parties  he  said  in  a  loud  voice,  so  as  to  be  heard 
by  all  his  guests,  "  Is  it  not  strange  that  there  should 
be  no  connection  between  religion  and  morality?" 
The  usual  silence  of  awe  and  curiosity  which  pre- 
vailed was,  to  the  consternation  of  all,  broken  by  a 
still  louder  voice  from  the  lower  end  of  the  table, 
exclaiming,  "  If  your  Grace  means  that  there  are 
heathen  religions  which  have  no  connection  with 
morality,  it  is  a  truism;  but  if  your  Grace  means 
that  there  is  no  connection  between  the  Christian 
religion  and  morality,  it  is  false."  The  offender  was 
the  Rev.  John  Jellett,  a  young  clergyman,  who  had 
recently  obtained  a  Fellowship  in  Dublin  University, 
of  which  he  was  subsequently  the  distinguished  Pro- 
vost. He  told  me  that  it  was  some  years  before  he 
was  again  invited  to  the  palace. 

Another  time  he  asked,  "  Can  any  one  tell  me  the 
vocative  of  cat  ? " 

"  O  cat !  "  suggested  a  mild  curate. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  archbishop  ;  "  did  any  one 
ever  say,  '  O  cat !  come  here '  ?  Puss  is  the  voca- 
tive." 

Again  he  asked,  "Is  there  any  one  here  who  is 
interested  in  ornithology  ?  I  ask  because  I  was 
surprised,  as  I  took  a  walk  in  the  Phoenix  Park 
to-day,  to  see  a  large  number  of  fieldfares." 

"A  very  rare  bird,  your  Grace,"  said  the  Rev. 
Mr.  A. 


84  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"Not  at  all,  Mr.  A.,"  said  the  archbishop,  —  "a 
very  common  bird  indeed ;  but  I  was  surprised  to 
see  them  so  early  in  the  winter." 

At  another  dinner  party  he  asked,  "  Did  any  of 
you  particularly  observe  the  autumn  tints  this 
year  ? " 

"  I  did,  your  Grace,"  said  Mr.  B. ;  "  and  most 
lovely  they  were." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  his  Grace,  "  I  thought 
them  about  the  poorest  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

The  last  time  I  ever  met  Charles  Lever  (Harry 
Lorrequer)  he  told  me  that  he  and  the  archbishop, 
accompanied  by  two  curates,  X.  and  Z.,  were  taking 
a  walk  together  in  the  Park,  at  a  time  when  Whately 
was  much  exercised  about  mushrooms,  as  to  what 
species  were  edible  and  wholesome,  and  Avhat  sorts 
poisonous.  As  they  walked  along,  the  archbishop 
espied  and  picked  up  a  dreadful  looking  brown  and 
yellow  fungus.  "Now,  Lever,"  he  said,  "many 
people  might  fancy  that  that  is  a  poisonous  fungus, 
while  in  reality  no  better  or  more  wholesome  mush- 
room grows."  He  thereupon  broke  off  a  bit  of  it, 
and  handing  it  to  Mr.  X.,  said,  "  Try  a  bit,  X.,  and 
tell  us  what  you  think  of  it." 

"A  very  nice  fungus,  indeed,  your  Grace,  and 
rather  sweetish,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  X. 

"  Here's  a  bit  for  you,  Z. ;  let  us  have  your  opinion 
of  it." 


MUSHROOMS  85 

"If  it  were  nicely  cooked,  your  Grace,"  said  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Z.,  making  a  very  wry  face,  "  with  a  little 
salt  and  butter,  it  would,  I  am  sure,  be  delicious." 

Whately  then,  handing  a  piece  of  it  to  Lever, 
said,  "  Here,  Lever,  try  a  bit,  and  say  what  you 
think  of  it." 

"  I  thank  your  Grace,  I'd  rather  not,"  said  he. 
"  "Tis  true  I  have  a  brother  in  the  Church,  but  he 
is  not  in  your  Grace's  diocese." 


86  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  "  Charleys'"  life  was  not  a  pleasant  one  —  Paddy  O'Neill 
and  his  rhymes  —  "  With  my  rigatooria"  —  Too  far  west  to 
wash  —  On  the  coast  at  Kilkee  —  "  Phaudrig  Crohoore  "  — 
The  Dublin  Magazine. 

WHEN  I  was  in  college  a  favourite  amusement  of 
the  ingenious  youth  there  was  tormenting  the  old 
city  watchmen,  or  "  Charleys  "  as  they  were  called. 
They  were  the  only  guardians  of  the  city  by  night ; 
there  were  none  by  day ;  the  metropolitan  police 
did  not  then  exist.  These  watchmen  were  generally 
old  and  often  feeble.  Many  of  them  had  in  their 
earlier  days  been  the  domestic  servants  or  retainers 
of  members  of  the  Corporation  and  of  their  friends. 
They  wore  long  grey  frieze  coats,  with  large  capes 
and  low-crowned  hats.  Their  only  weapon,  offen- 
sive and  defensive,  was  what  was  called  a  crook, 
a  long  pole  with  a  spear  at  the  end  and  near  the 
spear  a  crook  for  catching  runaway  offenders.  They 
also  carried  a  rattle,  which,  when  whirled  swiftly 
round,  made  a  loud,  harsh,  and  grating  sound  like 
the  voice  of  a  gigantic  corncrake ;  with  this,  when 
in  trouble  or  in  danger,  they  summoned  other  watch- 


CHARLEYS  87 

men  to  their  assistance.  To  rob  them  of  these 
was  an  exploit  not  to  be  despised.  In  the  college 
rooms  of  friends  of  mine  —  some  of  them  after- 
wards judges,  others  eminent  divines  —  I  have  seen, 
hanging  up  as  trophies,  many  a  crook  and  many  a 
rattle. 

The  duties  of  these  ancient  guardians  of  the 
peace  were,  to  patrol  a  certain  beat,  to  quell  riots, 
and  to  arrest  and  bring  to  the  watch-house  disor- 
derly characters.  They  had  also,  as  they  walked 
along  their  beat,  to  call  out  the  hour  and  the  state 
of  the  weather  —  "  Past  twelve  o'clock,  and  a  cloudy 
night ! "  or  "  Past  two  o'clock,  and  a  stormy  morn- 
ing ! "  as  the  case  might  be.  They  were  not  very 
attentive  to  their  duties,  and  spent  a  great  part  of 
their  time  in  sleeping  snugly  in  their  watch-boxes, 
which  were  much  like  soldiers'  sentry-boxes,  but 
more  comfortable ;  and  how  often,  after  a  cosy  doze, 
has  a  poor  fellow  woke  up  from  his  pleasant  dreams 
to  find  his  crook  and  rattle  gone  ! 

To  catch  a  "  Charley  "  fast  asleep,  and  to  over- 
turn his  watch-box,  face  downward  on  the  ground, 
was  the  grandest  feat  of  all.  When  in  this  position 
his  rattle  could  not  be  heard  at  any  distance,  and 
his  assailants  were  wont  to  let  him  lie  in  that  help- 
less state  for  a  considerable  time  before  they  turned 
the  box  over  on  its  side  and  let  him  out.  Before  he 
was  on  his  legs  they  were  far  out  of  reach  of  capture. 


88  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

A  cousin  of  mine,  Brinsley  II ,  a  remarkably 

steady  youth,  who  highly  disapproved  of  these  at- 
tacks on  the  old  men,  and,  amongst  his  other  good 
qualities,  had,  or  thought  he  had,  a  mission  to  see 
that  all  men  with  whom  he  came  in  contact  did 
their  duty  in  their  respective  callings,  was  coming 
home  late  one  night,  and  as  he  passed  a  watch-box 
was  attracted  by  the  sound  of  snoring.  On  looking 
in  he  saw  the  occupant  in  profound  slumber.  He 
roused  him  up  at  once,  and  said,  "  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself,  asleep  in  your  box  and  neglect- 
ing your  duty.  If  I  hadn't  wakened  you,  you  would 
probably  have  lost  your  crook  and  your  rattle.  I 
shall  certainly  report  you  to  the  city  magistrate 
to-morrow  morning."  "  Bedad,  then,"  said  the 
Charley,  "  I'll  report  you  first,  my  boy,"  and  seizing 
him  by  the  collar,  he  sprung  his  rattle,  and  held  him 
till  two  other  watchmen  arrived.  The  three  of  them 
then  conveyed  him  to  the  watch-house,  where  he 
was  kept  till  ten  o'clock  next  morning,  when  he  was 
brought  before  Mr.  Cole,  one  of  the  city  magistrates. 
The  watchman  swore  that  the  young  gentleman  had 
assaulted  him,  and  tried  to  wrest  his  crook  from 
him ;  the  other  men  gave  evidence  of  his  violent 
conduct  and  abusive  language  as  they  led  him  to  the 
watch-house.  Mr.  Cole  asked  him  what  he  had  to 
say  for  himself.  H—  -  told  the  true  story,  exactly 
as  it  happened.  The  magistrate  did  not  seem  to 


attach  much  credence  to  it;  but,  as  he  had  been  all 
night  in  a  cell,  dismissed  him  with  a  caution,  saying, 
"  I  hope,  young  man,  that  this  will  be  a  warning  to 
you,  and  that  you  will  not  again  behave  in  such  a 
way  ;  and  I  promise  you  that  if  you  are  ever  brought 
before  me  for  an  offence  of  this  sort  again,  I  shall 
deal  severely  with  you.  You  may  go  now."  I 
never  saw  a  man  so  indignant  as  Brinsley  was  when 
he  next  day  told  me  of  his  wrongs,  and  of  the  cruel 
injustice  of  Mr.  Cole.  From  that  day  he  never 
again  roused  a  sleeping  watchman,  but  acted  on  the 
wise  principle  of  letting  sleeping  dogs  lie.  Though 
over  eighty,  he  is  hale  and  hearty  still,  and  if  this 
should  meet  his  eye  he  will  smile  at  the  recollection 
of  his  early  wrongs. 

After  our  return  to  Abington  we  occasionally 
spent  a  few  weeks  in  summer  at  Kilkee,  in  the 
county  of  Clare,  now  a  much-frequented  watering- 
place,  then  a  wild  village  on  the  wildest  coast  of 
Ireland.  A  new  steamboat,  the  Garry  Owen,  had 
then  begun  to  ply  between  Limerick  and  Ivilrush. 
a  considerable  town,  about  eight  miles  from  Kilkee. 
On  the  voyage,  which  generally  took  about  four 
hours  —  sometimes  five  or  more  if  the  weather  was 
bad  —  the  passengers  were  cheered  by  the  music  and 
songs  of  a  famous  character,  one  Paddy  O'Neill, 
whose  playing  on  the  fiddle  was  only  surpassed  by 
his  performances  on  the  bagpipes.  He  was,  more- 


90  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

over,  a  poet,  and  sang  his  o\vn  songs  with  vigour 
and  expression  to  his  own  accompaniment.  One  of 
these  songs  was  in  praise  of  the  new  steamboat,  and 
was  in  the  style  of  the  well-known  song,  "  Garry 
Owen"  which,  as  most  Irishmen  know,  begins  in 
this  fashion  — 

"  Oh,  Garry  Owen  is  gone  to  wrack, 
Since  Johnny  O'Connell  is  gone  to  Cork, 
Though  Paddy  O'Brien  jumped  out  of  the  dock, 

In  spite  of  judge  and  jury. 
'Twas  in  Irishtown  a  battle  begun, 
'Twas  down  the  Mall  he  made  them  run, 
'Twas  in  Garry  Owen  we  had  the  fun, 

On  Easter  Tuesday  morning." 

I  regret  that  I  only  remember  the  first  verse  of 
Paddy's  song.  It  ran  thus  — 

"  Oh,  Garry  Given  is  no  more  a  wrack ; 
Whoever  says  she  is,  is  a  noted  ass ; 
She's  an  iron  boat  that  flies  like  shot 

Against  the  strongest  storum. 
On  Kilrush  Quay  there's  brave  O'Brien, 
Of  ancient  line,  without  spot  or  slime ; 
In  double  quick  time,  with  graceful  smile, 

He  hands  ashore  the  ladies." 

It  will  be  seen  that  in  these  verses,  as  in  most  Irish 
songs,  it  is  the  vowels  that  make  the  rhyme.  In 
the  former,  "  wrack,"  "  Cork,"  and  "  dock,"  and 
in  the  latter  "  wrack,"  "  ass,"  and  "  shot,"  are  made 


PADDY'S  RHYMES  91 

to  rhyme.  In  another  of  Paddy's  songs,  "  A  Parody 
on  the  famous  rebel  song,  '  The  Shan  Yan  Vocht,' '; 
the  following  rhymes  appear  :  — 

"  We'll  have  turkeys  and  roast  beef, 
And  we'll  eat  them  very  sweet, 
And  then  will  take  a  sleep, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht." 

One  summer  evening  my  brother,  who  was  a  prime 
favourite  of  his,  persuaded  Paddy  to  drive  across 
with  him  from  Kilrush  to  Kilkee,  and  there  they 
got  up  a  dance  in  Mrs.  Eeade's  lodge,  where  some 
of  our  family  were  sojourning  at  the  time.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  I  was  away  somewhere  and  missed  the 
fun.  The  dance  music  was  supplied  by  Paddy's 
pipes  and  fiddle,  and  between  the  dances  he  sang 
some  of  his  favourite  songs.  Next  day  my  brother 
wrote  some  doggerel  verses  celebrating  the  dance 
and  in  imitation  of  the  "  Wedding  of  Ballyporean," 
a  song  then  very  popular  in  the  south  of  Ireland. 
One  verse  ran  - 

"  But  Paddy  no  longer  his  fiddle  could  twig, 
And  the  heat  was  so  great  that  he  pulled  off  his  wig ; 
But  Mary  McCarthy  being  still  for  a  jig, 
He  screwed  his  old  pipes  till  they  roared  like  a  pig. 
Oh  !  they  fell  to  their  dancing  once  more,  sir, 
Till  their  marrow  bones  all  grew  quite  sore,  sir, 
And  they  were  obliged  to  give  o'er,  sir, 

At  the  dance  in  the  lodire  at  Kilkee." 


92  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

A  copy  of  the  verses  was  presented  to  Paddy, 
who  was  highly  delighted  with  them,  and  for  years 
after  sang  them  with  much  applause  to  the  pas- 
sengers on  the  Garry  Owen.  A  few  days  after  the 
dance  he  came  to  see  my  brother,  and  said  he  would 
be  for  ever  obliged  to  him  if  he  would  alter  one  little 
word  in  the  song. 

"Of  course  I  shall,  with  pleasure,"  said  my 
brother.  "  What  is  the  word  ? " 

"Pig,  your  honour,"  said  Paddy.  "I'm  sure 
your  honour  doesn't  think  my  beautiful  pipes 
sounded  like  a  pig." 

"Oh,"  he  answered,  "you  don't  think  I  meant 
that  they  sounded  like  the  grunt  or  squeak  of 
a  pig?  I  only  meant  that  they  were  as  loud  as 
a  pig." 

"As  loud  as  a  pig!"  said  Paddy,  rather  indig- 
nantly ;  "  as  loud  as  a  pig !  They  wor  a  great  deal 
louder ;  but  if  your  honour  wouldn't  mind  changing 
that  one  word,  I  think  it  would  be  a  great  improve- 
ment, and  would  sound  more  natural  like.  This  is 
the  way  I'd  like  it  to  go  — 

'  But  Mary  McCarthy  being  still  for  a  jig, 
He  screwed  his  old  pipes  till  they  roar'd  like  a  nymph." 

You  see,  your  honour,  the  rhyme  would  be  just  as 
good,  and  I  think  it  would  be  more  like  the  rale 
tune  of  it." 


PADDYS  RHYMES  93 

The  suggested  improvement  was  at  once  made,  to 
Paddy's  great  satisfaction. 

My  brother  told  me  that  it  was  a  favourite 
song  of  Paddy's  that  suggested  to  him  the  plot  of 
"  Shamus  O'Brien."  Here  is  the  song— 

"  I  am  a  young  man  that  never  yet  was  daunted  ; 
I  always  had  money,  plenty,  when  I  wanted ; 
Courting  pretty  fair  maids  was  all  the  trade  I'd  folly : 
My  life  I  would  venture  for  you,  my  sporting  Molly. 

"  As  I  was  going  up  the  Galtee  mountain 
I  met  with  Captain  Pepper ;  his  money  he  was  counting. 
I  first  drew  out  my  pistol,  and  then  drew  out  my  weapon : 
'Stand  and  deliver,  for  I  am  the  receiver.' 

"  When  I  got  the  money  —  it  was  a  nice  penny  — 
I  put  it  in  my  pocket,  and  brought  it  home  to  Molly. 
Molly,  she  told  me  she  never  would  decave  me ; 
But  the  divil's  in  the  women,  for  they  never  can  be  'asy. 

"  I  went  to  her  chamber  for  to  take  a  slumber ; 
I  went  to  her  chamber  —  sure,  I  thought  it  little  wonder. 
I  took  out  my  pistols,  and  laid  them  on  the  table ; 
She  discharged  off  them  both,  and  filled  them  up  with  water. 

"  Early  next  morning,  between  six  and  seven, 
The  guard  they  surrounded  me,  with  brave  Captain  Ledwell. 
I  ran  to  my  pistols,  but  sure  I  was  mistaken  ; 
I  discharged  off  the  water,  and  a  prisoner  I  was  taken. 

"Johnny,  oh,  Johnny,  you  are  a  gallant  soldier; 
You  carry  your  firelock  over  your  shoulder. 
When  you  meet  those  gentlemen  you're  sure  to  make  them 

tremble  ; 
Put  your  whistle  to  your  mouth,  and  your  party  will  assemble. 


94  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  JRJSH  LIFE 

"Johnny,  oh,  Johnny,  I  oftentimes  told  you, 
With  your    bright    shining    sword,   how  the   guard  would 

surround  you ; 

With  your  silver-mounted  pistols  deluding  pretty  fair  maids, 
Which  causes  your  head  to  lie  under  the  raven. 

"  I  have  two  brothers  'listed  in  the  army ; 
One  is  in  Killiney,  the  other  in  Killarney. 
If  I  had  been  them,  I  would  be  brave  and  charming. 
I'd  rather  have  them  here  than  you,  my  sporting  Molly. 

"  I  stood  in  the  hall  while  the  turnkey  was  brawling ; 
I  stood  in  the  hall  while  the  roll  it  was  calling. 
'Twas  with  my  metal  bolt  I  knocked  the  sentry  down ; 
I  made  my  escape,  adieu  to  Nenagh  town. 

With  my  rigatooria, 

Eight,  foltheladdy ;  with  my  rigatooria." 

The  chorus,  "With  my  rigatooria,"  etc.,  which  I 
have  appended  only  to  the  last  verse,  was  sung  by 
Paddy,  with  much  expression,  at  the  end  of  each 
verse,  and,  in  his  opinion,  greatly  added  to  the 
effect  and  beauty  of  the  song. 

The  cliffs  at  Kilkee,  though  not  so  high  as  some 
others  on  the  west  coast  of  Ireland,  are  amongst  the 
boldest;  they  overhang  so  much,  that  if  from  the 
highest  of  them,  Look-out  Hill,  you  drop  a  stone 
over  the  edge,  it  falls  well  out  into  the  sea.  A 
stranger  will  hardly  venture  to  look  over  the  top  of 
the  cliff  without  kneeling  or  lying  down  ;  while  the 
natives  will  sit  quite  happily  on  the  very  edge,  with 
their  legs  dangling  over,  as  they  fish  with  long 


A  SHOWER-BATH  AT  KILKEE  95 

hand-lines  for  rock  bream  in  the  sea  below.  This, 
of  course,  they  can  do  only  on  fine  days ;  in  stormy 
weather  the  foam  and  spray  of  the  great  Atlantic 
waves  are  driven  right  over  the  top  of  the  cliffs. 

In  those  days  bathing  on  the  strand  in  the  Bay  of 
Kilkee  was  carried  out  in  a  rather  primitive  style. 
A  shower-bath  was  given  by  a  man  who  climbed  up 
at  the  back  of  the  bath,  carrying  a  bucket  full  of 
water,  which  he  poured  through  a  colander  on  the 
bather.  A  lady  had  taken  her  place  in  the  bath, 
quite  ready  for  the  shower,  when  she  heard  a  voice 
say  to  her,  through  the  colander,  "  If  you'd  be 
plazed,  my  lady,  to  stand  a  little  more  to  the  west, 
I'd  be  able  to  give  it  to  you  better." 

In  the  south  of  Ireland  they  constantly  speak  of 
a  men  being  gone  west  or  east,  but  never  north  or 
south.  For  instance,  if  in  Kenmare  you  happened  to 
ask  where  a  man  had  gone,  they  would  say,  "  To 
Killarney,"  or  "  To  Glangarriff,"  as  the  case  might 
be,  but  never  "  Korth  to  Killarney,"  or  "  South  to 
Glengarriff."  However,  if  he  had  gone  to  Sneem, 
or  to  Kilgarvin,  they  would  invariably  say,  "  He's 
gone  west  to  Sneem,"  or  "  East  to  Kilgarvin." 
""West"  is  also  used  to  mean  back  or  backwards. 
When  at  our  fishing  quarters  in  Kerry  some  years 
ago,  a  small  peasant  boy,  Davy  Cronin  by  name, 
unwashed  and  unkempt,  with  hands  and  face  as 
black  as  a  potatoe-pot,  used  to  come  and  sit  near  us 


96  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

on  the  bank  of  the  river.  My  wife  told  him  that 
unless  he  washed  and  made  himself  clean,  she  could 
not  let  him  sit  near  our  children.  Next  day  he 
appeared  with  his  face  and  hands  much  cleaner,  but 
with  the  back  of  his  neck  as  black  as  ever.  "  You 
are  a  good  boy,  Davy,"  said  my  wife  to  him,  "to 
have  washed  your  hands  and  face;  but  when  you 
were  about  it,  why  didn't  you  wash  the  back  of  your 
neck?"  "'Twas  too  far  west,  my  lady,"  was  the 
answer. 

Another  day,  Jim  Shea,  who  was  then  my  fishing 
attendant,  had  a  violent  fit  of  coughing.  "  I'll  give 
you  something  this  evening,"  said  my  wife,  "  that 
will  do  your  cold  good."  "  'Tis  not  a  cold  I  have  at 
all,  my  lady,"  said  he  ;  "  'tis  a  fly  that's  gone  west  in 
my  stomach." 

This  last  word  reminds  me  of  a  story,  told  me  by 
a  friend,  of  a  little  girl,  a  niece  of  his,  who  had  been 
told  by  her  mother  that  "  stomach  "  was  not  a  nice 
word,  and  that  a  young  lady  ought  not  to  use  it. 
Some  time  afterwards  she  had  done  something 
naughty,  and  was  put  into  the  corner,  and  told  to 
stay  there  till  she  was  good.  As  no  sign  of  peni- 
tence appeared,  the  mother  took  the  initiative,  and 
said,  "  Well,  Mary,  are  you  good  now  ? "  "  No," 
said  she,  "I'm  not  good.  Stomach  —  stomach  — 
stomach  —  stomach !  " 

Kilkee  has  been  for  many  years  a  favourite  sum- 


A    IV RECK  AT  KILKEE  97 

mer  resort  of  the  people  of  Limerick  and  the  neigh- 
bouring counties;  I  wonder  it  is  not  more  often 
visited  by  tourists  from  other  parts  of  the  country, 
and  from  England.  The  scenery  is  magnificently 
wild,  the  cliffs,  many  hundred  feet  high,  go  sheer 
down  to  the  sea,  many  of  them  even  overhanging. 

No  vessel  willingly  approaches  this  iron-bound 
coast,  and  in  the  many  times  I  have  been  there  I  do 
not  think  I  have  seen  a  sail  half  a  dozen  times,  and 
when  I  did  see  one  it  was  far  away  in  the  offing. 
One  winter,  on  Christmas  morning,  the  Intrinsic, 
having  been  disabled  at  sea,  was  driven  by  the  storm 
under  the  highest  of  the  cliffs,  where  she  came  to 
anchor,  and  there  for  hours  she  lay  battered  and 
buffeted  by  the  waves.  Crowds  collected  on  the 
Look-out  Hill  which  overhung  the  cliff.  The  coast- 
guard men  were  there,  trying  in  vain,  with  rockets, 
to  send  a  rope  to  the  ship.  Two  or  three  times  in 
the  forenoon  some  of  the  crew  were  seen  on  deck ; 
two  of  them  were  washed  overboard  and  lost ;  after 
midday  none  were  seen.  From  hour  to  hour  the 
crowd  increased.  The  priests  from  Kilkee  came  up 
and  celebrated  Mass  on  the  hill,  while  the  people 
knelt,  in  the  storm  and  rain,  praying  for  those  in 
peril  on  the  ship.  The  Mass  had  scarcely  ended 
when  a  huge  wave  struck  the  vessel ;  she  heeled  over 
and  sunk.  A  gull  was  seen  to  pick  up  something 
from  the  sea  where  she  went  down,  which,  when 


98  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

flying  high  overhead,  it  dropped  amongst  the  crowd ; 
it  was  a  lady's  glove.  The  captain's  wife  had  per- 
ished with  her  husband  and  the  crew. 

Years  after  this,  in  November,  1850,  professional 
business  brought  me  for  a  day  to  Kilkee.  The 
greatest  storm  known  for  years  had  been  raging  for 
the  two  previous  days.  It  was  a  grand  sight,  those 
mighty  Atlantic  waves  dashing  and  breaking  against 
the  rocks,  and  sending  foam  and  spray  flying  high 
above  the  lofty  cliffs.  The  day  before  I  arrived,  an 
emigrant  ship,  the  Edmund,  had  left  Limerick  for 
America,  with  between  two  and  three  hundred  emi- 
grants on  board,  and  on  the  following  night  had 
been  caught  in  this  great  storm.  A  ledge,  called  the 
Dugarna  Rocks,  stretches  a  great  part  of  the  way 
across  the  mouth  of  the  little  Bay  of  Kilkee ;  over 
this  she  was  carried  by  the  waves,  and  driven  right 
up  to  the  village,  her  bows  high  and  dry  on  the 
rocks  close  to  the  coastguard  station.  The  greater 

• 

number  of  the  passengers  were  saved,  but  about  a 
hundred  of  them  were  still  on  board  when  the  vessel 
went  to  pieces ;  they  were  drowned,  and  with  them 
the  ship's  carpenter,  a  brave  fellow,  who  had  risked 
his  life  again  and  again  in  saving  some  of  the  emi- 
grants, and  had  gone  on  board  once  more  to  rescue 
others.  I  saw  lying  side  by  side,  on  a  sail  spread  on 
the  beach,  many  of  the  poor  drowned  ones,  most  of 
them  young  women  and  children ;  others  were  con- 


THE  "PURCELL  PAPERS"  99 

stantly  being  washed  ashore  and  were  laid  with 
those  already  there.  Had  I  not  seen  it  I  would  not 
have  believed  that  such  a  large  vessel  could  have  so 
completely  broken  up  in  so  short  a  time ;  all  that 
was  left  of  her  were  fragments  scattered  on  the  rocks 
and  beach.  That  night  I  had  a  long  and  weary 
journey  from  Kilkee  to  Limerick,  over  sixty  miles, 
on  an  outside  car  in  storm  and  rain,  and  could  think 
of  nothing  all  through  the  night  but  the  terrible 
scene  I  had  witnessed,  and  ever  before  me  were  the 
poor  sad  faces  I  had  seen  upon  the  sail. 

In  1839  my  brother  became  connected  with  the 
Dublin  University  Magazine,  of  which  he  was  subse- 
quently the  proprietor ;  to  it  he  contributed  the 
many  interesting  and  amusing  Irish  stories,  after- 
wards collected  in  the  Purcell  Papers.  Some  of 
them  I  used  occasionally  to  recite,  and  wishing  to  have 
one  in  verse,  I  asked  him  to  write  one  for  me.  He 
said  he  did  not  know  what  subject  I  would  like.  I 
said,  "  Give  me  an  Irish  Young  Locbinvar,"  and  in  a 
few  days  he  sent  me  "Phaudrig  Crohoore"  ("Patrick 
Connor ; "  or,  more  correctly,  "  Patrick  the  Son  of 
Connor  ").  Although  it  has  appeared  in  the  Purcell 
Papers,  my  readers  may  not  object  to  see  it  here. 

PHAUDRIG  CROHOORE 

"On !  Phaudrig  Crohoore  was  the  broth  of  a  boy, 

And  he  stood  six  foot  eight ; 

And  his  arm  was  as  round  as  another  man's  thigh  — 
'Tis  Phaudrig  was  great. 


zoo  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

And  his  hair  was  as  black  as  the  shadows  of  night  — 

And  hung  over  the  scars  left  by  many  a  fight ; 

And  his  voice,  like  the  thunder,  was  deep,  strong,  and  loud, 

And  his  eye  like  the  lightning  from  under  the  cloud. 

And  all  the  girls  liked  him,  for  he  could  spake  civil, 

And  sweet  when  he  liked  it,  for  he  was  the  divil. 

And  there  wasn't  a  girl  from  thirty-five  under, 

Divil  a  matter  how  cross,  but  he  could  come  round  her. 

But  of  all  the  sweet  girls  that  smiled  on  him  but  one 

Was  the  girl  of  his  heart,  and  he  loved  her  alone ; 

For  warm  as  the  sun,  as  the  rock  firm  and  sure, 

Was  the  love  of  the  heart  of  Phaudrig  Crohoore. 

And  he'd  die  for  one  smile  from  his  Kathleen  O'Brien, 

For  his  love,  like  his  hatred,  was  strong  as  the  lion. 

"  But  Michael  O'Hanlon  loved  Kathleen  as  well 
As  he  hated  Crohoore,  an'  that  same  was  like  hell. 
But  O'Brien  liked  him,  for  they  were  the  same  parties, 
The  O'Briens,  O'Hanlons,  and  Murphys,  and  Cartys; 
And  they  all  went  together  and  hated  Crohoore, 
For  it's  many's  the  batin'  he  gave  them  before ; 
And  O'Hanlon  made  up  to  O'Brien,  an'  says  he, 
'I'll  marry  your  daughter,  if  you'll  give  her  to  me.' 
And  the  match  was  made  up,  and  when  Shrovetide  came  on. 
The  company  assembled  three  hundred,  if  one. 
There  was  all  the  O'Hanlons,  an'  Murphys,  an'  Cartys, 
An'  the  young  boys  an'  girls  of  all  of  them  parties. 
The  O'Briens,  of  coorse,  gathered  strong  on  that  day, 
An'  the  pipers  an'  fiddlers  were  tearin'  away; 
Thei-e  was  roarin',  an'  jumpin',  an'  jiggin',  an'  flingin', 
An'  jokin',  an'  blessin',  an'  kissin',  an'  singin' ; 
An'  they  wor  all  laughin' — why  not  to  be  sure?  — 
How  O'Hanlon  come  inside  of  Phaudrig  Crohoore; 
An'  they  talked  an'  they  laughed  the  length  of  the  table, 
'Atin'  an'  drinkin'  all  while  they  were  able ; 


"  PHAUDRIG   CROHOORE"  101 

An'  with  pi  pin'  an'  fiddlin',  and  roarin'  like  thunder, 

Your  head  you'd  think  fairly  was  splittin'  asunder. 

An'  the  priest  called  out,  '  Silence,  ye  blackguards,  agin,' 

An'  he  took  up  his  prayer-book,  just  goiu'  to  begin. 

An'  they  all  held  their  tongues  from  their  funnin'  and  bawlin', 

So  silent  you'd  notice  the  smallest  pin  fallin'. 

An'  the  priest  was  just  beginnin'  to  read,  when  the  door 

Sprang  back  to  the  wall,  and  in  walked  Crohoore. 

Oh !  Phaudrig  Crohoore  was  the  broth  of  a  boy, 

And  he  stood  six  foot  eight ; 
And  his  arm  was  as  round  as  another  man's  thigh  — 

'Tis  Phaudrig  was  great. 

And  he  walked  slowly  up,  watched  by  many  a  bright  eye, 
As  a  black  cloud  moves  on  through  the  stars  of  the  sky ; 
And  none  strove  to  stop  him,  for  Phaudrig  was  great, 
Till  he  stood,  all  alone,  just  opposite  the  sate 
Where  O'Hanlon  and  Kathleen,  his  beautiful  bride, 
Were  sittin'  so  illigant  out  side  by  side. 
An'  he  gave  her  one  look  that  her  heart  almost  broke, 
An'  he  turned  to  O'Brien,  her  father,  and  spoke  ; 
An1  his  voice,  like  the  tlvunder,  was  deep,  strong,  and  loud, 
An'  his  eye  shone  like  lightning  from  under  the  cloud. 

" '  1  didn't  come  here  like  a  tame,  crawlin'  mouse, 
But  I  stand  like  a  man  in  my  enemies'  house. 
In  the  field,  on  the  road,  Phaudrig  never  knew  fear 
Of  his  foemen,  and  God  knows  he  scorns  it  here ; 
So  lave  me  at  aise,  for  three  minutes  or  four, 
To  spake  to  the  girl  Pll  never  see  more.' 
And  to  Kathleen  he  turned,  and  his  voice  changed  its  tone, 
For  he  thought  of  the  days  when  he  called  her  his  own, 
An'  his  eye  blazed  like  lightnin'  from  under  the  cloud 
On  his  false-hearted  girl,  reproachful  and  proud. 
An'  says  he,  '  Kathleen  bawn,  is  it  true  what  I  hear, 
That  you  marry  of  your  free  choice,  without  threat  or  fear? 


102  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

If  so,  spake  the  word,  an'  I'll  turn  and  depart, 
Cheated  once,  arid  once  only,  by  woman's  false  heart.' 

"  Oh  !  sorrow  and  love  made  the  poor  girl  dumb, 
And  she  tried  hard  to  spake,  but  the  words  wouldn't  come ; 
For  the  sound  of  his  voice,  as  he  stood  there  fornint  her, 
Went  cold  on  her  heart,  as  the  night  wind  in  winter ; 
And  the  tears  in  her  blue  eyes  stood  tremblin'  to  flow, 
And  pale  was  her  cheek,  as  the  moonshine  on  snow. 

"  Then  the  heart  of  bold  Phaudrig  swelled  high  in  its  place, 
For  he  knew,  by  one  look  in  that  beautiful  face, 
That,  though  strangers  and  foemen  their  pledged  hands  might 

sever, 

Her  true  heart  was  his,  and  his  only,  for  ever. 
And  he  lifted  his  voice  like  the  eagle's  hoarse  call, 
And  says  Phaudrig,  '  She's  mine  still,  in  spite  of  you  all ! ' 
Then  up  jumped  O'Hanlon  — an'  a  tall  boy  was  he  — 
And  he  looked  on  bold  Phaudrig  as  fierce  as  could  be  • 
An'  says  he,  '  By  the  holy,  before  you  go  out, 
Bold  Phaudrig  Crohoore,  you  must  fight  for  a  bout. 
Then  Phaudrig  made  answer,  'I'll  do  my  endeavour; ' 
And  with  one  blow  he  stretched  bold  O'Hanlon  for  ever. 
In  his  arms  he  took  Kathleen,  and  stepped  to  the  door, 
And  he  leaped  on  his  horse,  and  flung  her  before. 
An'  they  all  were  so  bothered  that  not  a  man  stirred 
Till  the  galloping  hoofs  on  the  pavement  were  heard  ; 
Then  up  they  all  started,  like  bees  in  the  swarm, 
An'  they  riz  a  great  shout,  like  the  burst  of  a  storm ; 
An'  they  roared,  an'  they  ran,  an'  they  shouted  galore  ; 
But  Kathleen  and  Phaudrig  they  never  saw  more. 

"  But  them  days  are  gone  by,  and  he  is  no  more, 
An'  the  green  grass  is  growin'  o'er  Phaudrig  Crohoore ; 


"PHAUDRIG   CROHOORE"  103 

For  he  couldn't  be  aisy  or  quiet  at  all ; 

As  he  lived  a  brave  boy,  he  resolved  so  to  fall. 

An'  he  took  a  good  pike,  for  Phaudrig  was  great, 

And  he  fought,  and  he  died  in  the  year  ninety-eight ; 

An'  the  day  that  Crohoore  in  the  green  field  was  killed, 

A  strong  boy  was  stretched,  and  a  strong  heart  was  stilled." 


"When  "  Phaudrig  Crohoore  "  appeared  in  the  Dub- 
lin University  Magazine,  my  brother,  under  his  nom 
de  plume,  wrote  a  preface  to  it,  in  which  he  said 
that  it  had  been  composed  by  a  poor  Irish  minstrel, 
Michael  Finley,  who  could  neither  read  nor  write, 
but  used  to  recite  it,  with  others  of  his  songs  and 
ballads,  at  fairs  and  markets. 

Many  years  afterwards,  one  evening,  after  I 
had  recited  it  at  Lord  Spencer's,  who  was  then 
Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  the  late  primate,  Beres- 
ford,  said  to  Lady  Spencer,  who  was  sitting  near  me, 
"  I  can  tell  you  a  curious  fact,  Lady  Spencer ; 
that  poem  was  composed  by  a  poor  Irish  peasant, 
one  Michael  Finley,  who  could  neither  read  nor 
write."  Then  turning  to  me,  "  Were  you  aware  of 
that,  Mr.  Le  Fanu ? "  "I  was,  your  Grace,"  said  I ; 
"  and  you  may  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  knew  the 
Michael  Finley  who  wrote  the  ballad  intimately  — 
he  was,  in  fact,  my  brother.  But  in  one  particular 
your  Grace  is  mistaken ;  he  could  read  and  write  a 
little."  The  primate  took  it  very  well,  and  was 
much  amused. 


104  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Some  of  my  brother's  earliest  stories  in  the  Uni- 
versity Magazine  abound  in  fun  about  courtship  and 
matrimony.  In  one  he  makes  the  narrator,  an  Irish 
peasant,  thus  describe  the  condition  of  Billy  Malow- 
ney  when  courting  pretty  Molly  Donovan.  "  Well, 
now,  he  was  raly  stupid  wid  love;  there  wasn't  a 
bit  of  fun  left  in  him.  He  was  good  for  nothing 
on  earth  but  sittin'  under  bushes  smokin'  tobaccy 
and  sighing,  till  you'd  wonder  where  he  got  the 
wind  for  it  all.  Now  you  might  as  well  be  per- 
suadin'  the  birds  again'  flying,  or  strivin'  to  coax 
the  stars  out  of  the  sky  into  your  hat,  as  to  be  talk- 
ing common  sense  to  them  that's  fairly  bothered  and 
burstin'  wid  love.  There  is  nothing  like  it.  The 
toothache  and  colic  together  would  compose  you 
better  for  an  argument ;  it  leaves  you  fit  for  nothing 
but  nonsinse.  It's  stronger  than  whisky,  for  one 
good  drop  of  it  will  make  you  drunk  for  a  year,  and 
sick,  begorra,  for  ten ;  it's  stronger  than  the  sea,  for 
it  will  carry  you  round  the  world,  and  never  let  you 
sink  in  sunshine  or  in  storm ;  and  begorra  it's  stronger 
than  Death  itself,  for  it's  not  afear'd  of  him,  but 
dares  him  in  every  shape.  But  lovers  does  have 
their  quarrels  sometimes ;  and,  begorra,  when  they 
do,  you'd  almost  think  they  hated  one  another  like 
man  and  wife." 

Another  time  he  makes  a  man  warn  his  son 
against  matrimony,  telling  him  that  "marriage  is 


COURTSHIP  105 

like  the  smallpox.  A  man  may  have  it  mildly,  but 
he  generally  carries  the  marks  of  it  with  him  to  his 
grave." 

In  another  story  he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  an 
Irish  farmer,  addressing  his  son,  the  following  cyni- 
cal view  of  life,  the  last  part  of  which  very  consid- 
erably shocked  the  Dean  :  — 

"  You  see,  my  boy,  a  man's  life  naturally  divides 
itself  into  three  distinct  periods.  The  first  is  that 
in  which  he  is  plannin'  and  conthrivin'  all  sorts  of 
villainy  and  rascality ;  that  is  the  period  of  youth 
and  innocence.  The  second  is  that  in  which  he  is 
puttin'  into  practice  the  villainy  and  rascality  he 
contrived  before;  that  is  the  prime  of  life  or  the 
flower  of  manhood.  The  third  and  last  period  is 
that  in  which  he  is  makin'  his  soul  and  preparin' 
for  another  world ;  that  is  the  period  of  dotage." 


106  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Peasant  life  after  the  famine  of  1847  —  An  aged  goose  —  Super- 
stitions and  Irish  peculiarities  —  The  worship  of  Baal  — 
The  Blarney  stone  —  The  wren  boys  —  The  direful  "  Wur- 
rum  "  —  A  remedy  for  the  chin  cough,  and  doctors'  remedies. 

UNTIL  after  the  famine  of  1847  there  was  but 
little  change  in  the  mode  of  life  of  the  people,  or 
in  the  wages  of  workmen.  When  we  went  to  the 
south  the  pay  of  labourers  was  sevenpence  a  day; 
the  farmers  accused  my  father  of  spoiling  the  market 
by  giving  his  men  ninepence.  The  peasants,  except 
the  few  who  had  land  enough  to  keep  a  cow,  lived 
altogether  on  potatoes,  with  which  on  rare  occasions 
they  had  a  salt  herring  or  two.  Milk  they  could  not 
get,  for  when  —  which  was  very  seldom  indeed  — 
they  could  have  afforded  to  buy  it  the  farmers  would 
not  sell  it,  as  they  wanted  it  to  feed  their  calves. 
The  potatoes  were  boiled  in  a  huge  iron  pot,  from 
which  they  were  thrown  into  a  big  open-work  wicker 
basket,  shaped  like  the  bowl  of  a  spoon;  this  was 
placed  over  another  large  pot  or  over  a  trough,  till 
the  water  was  thoroughly  drained  off ;  the  potatoes 
were  then  turned  out  on  the  middle  of  the  table  in 


PIGS*  FEET  107 

a  heap.  There  was  sometimes  a  coarse  tablecloth, 
more  often  none.  There  were  no  knives  or  forks, 
nor  any  plates,  but  one  on  which  the  herring,  if  one 
was  there,  lay.  From  time  to  time  each  one  of  the 
family  nipped  with  finger  and  thumb  a  little  bit  of 
the  herring,  to  give  a  flavour  to  his  "  pratee."  Meat 
they  never  tasted  except  on  Christmas  Day  and 
Easter  Sunday ;  but  all,  no  matter  how  poor,  man- 
aged to  have  a  bit  of  meat  of  some  sort  on  these 
days. 

As  I  drove  from  Limerick  one  Christmas  Eve  an 
elderly  woman  with  a  small  bundle  in  her  hand  ran 
after  the  car,  holding  on  to  the  back  of  it.  I  got 
into  conversation  with  her,  and  after  some  other 
talk  I  asked  her  what  she  had  in  her  bundle. 

"'Tis  some  cus~a-muck  (pigs'  feet)  I  have,  your 
honour,  for  Christinas."  After  a  pause  she  added, 
"  I  got  them  for  the  price  of  a  goose  I  sold  in  Lim- 
erick to-day." 

"  Wouldn't  the  goose,"  said  I,  "  have  been  better 
for  dinner  than  the  pigs'  feet  ? " 

"  Av  course  it  would,  your  honour,  if  we  could  ate 
her." 

"  Why  couldn't  you  ? "  said  I. 

"  She  was  too  ould  and  tough,  your  honour.  I'm 
married  twenty-five  years  ago  last  Shrove,  and  she 
was  an  ould  goose  then ;  and  I'd  never  have  sold  her, 
only  she  was  stoppin'  of  lay  in'  by  rason  of  her  ould 


io8  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

age."  She  then  began  to  laugh  heartily,  and  said, 
"  It's  what  I'm  laughing  at,  your  honour,  thinking 
of  them  that  bought  her,  how  they'll  be  breakin'  the 
back  of  their  heads  against  the  wall  to-morrow, 
strivin'  with  their  teeth  to  pull  the  mate  off  her  ould 
bones ! " 

It  would  take  volumes  to  tell  of  all  the  old  cus- 
toms and  superstitions  of  the  peasantry.  Many  of 
them  have  died  out,  and  others  are  rapidly  dying. 
Here  I  shall  only  mention  a  few  of  them. 

On  St.  John's  Eve,  the  23rd  of  June,  still  may  be 
seen  a  few  bonfires  on  the  mountains;  in  the  old 
days  they  blazed  on  every  hill  and  in  every  farm. 
No  lield  was  fruitful  into  which  a  burning  brand 
had  not  been  thrown,  no  horse  or  cow  which  had 
not  been  touched  by  fire  on  that  night. 

This  custom  had  its  origin  in  pre-Christian  times, 
as  the  name  of  the  fires,  Baal  thinna  (Baal's  fires) 
shows.  It  is  more  than  a  hundred  years  since  the 
late  Rev.  Donald  Macqueen,  of  Kilmuir,  in  the  Isle 
of  Skye,  visited  Ireland ;  in  the  account  of  his  tour, 
he  says  that  "  The  Irish  have  ever  been  worshippers 
of  fire  and  of  Baal,  and  are  so  to  this  day.  The 
chief  festival  in  honour  of  the  sun  and  fire  is  upon 
the  21st  of  June,  when  the  sun  arrives  at  the  sum- 
mer solstice,  or  rather  begins  its  retrogade  motion." 
Then  follows  the  description  of  the  Baal  fires  which 
he  saw. 


BAAVS  FIRES  109 

"  I  was  so  fortunate  in  the  summer  of  1782  as  to 
have  my  curiosity  gratified.  At  the  house  where  I 
was  entertained  it  was  told  me  that  we  should  see  at 
midnight  the  most  singular  sight  in  Ireland,  which 
was  the  lighting  of  fires  in  honour  of  the  sun. 
Accordingly,  exactly  at  midnight,  the  fires  began  to 
appear;  and  going  up  to  the  leads  of  the  house, 
which  had  a  widely  extended  view,  I  sa\v,  on  a 
radius  of  thirty  miles,  all  round  the  fires  burning  on 
every  eminence  which  the  country  afforded.  I  had 
a  further  satisfaction  of  learning,  from  undoubted 
authority,  that  the  people  danced  round  the  fires., 
and  at  the  close  went  through  these  fires,  and  made 
their  sons  and  daughters,  together  with  their  cattle, 
pass  through  the  fire,  and  the  whole  was  concluded 
with  religious  solemnity." 

There  is  another  Irish  phrase  ("  Baal-o-yerib !  " ) 
connected  with  the  worship  of  Baal.  But  before  I 
go  further  I  had  better  confess  that  I  am  not  an 
Irish  scholar ;  and  although  I  know  the  meaning  of 
a  great  many  Irish  words,  I  do  not  know  how  to 
spell  one  of  them.  Any  I  give  I  have  spelt  phoneti- 
cally, as  nearly  as  I  can  to  the  way  I  heard  them 
spoken  by  the  peasantry.  I  believe  this  will  give  a 
better  idea  how  they  sound  when  spoken  than  if  I 
had  been  able  to  write  them  correctly ;  for  any  Irish 
words  which  I  have  happened  to  see,  written  by 
those  who  know  the  language,  do  not  bear  the 


no  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

slightest  resemblance  to  the  same  words  when 
spoken. 

But  to  return  to  our  " Baal-o-yerib ! "  -it  was 
and,  where  Irish  is  spoken,  still  is  the  salutation 
addressed  by  any  one  passing  by  to  men  working  in 
a  field,  or,  on  entering  a  house,  to  the  inmates,  who 
reply,  "  Dhe-as-maera-guth  ! "  None  of  the  peas- 
antry whom  I  have  asked  could  give  me  a  transla- 
tion of  this  salutation ;  they  said  they  thought  it 
meant  "  God  bless  the  work ! "  or  "  God  save  all 
here ! "  They  all  knew  what  the  reply  means.  The 
late  Rev.  Patrick  Fitzgerald,  a  good  Irish  scholar, 
told  me  that  "  Baal-o-yerib ! "  means  "  Baal,  or  God, 
be  with  you ! "  and  was  originally  used  when  there 
were  worshippers  of  Baal  still  in  Ireland.  The  reply 
of  a  Christian,  "  Dhe-as-maera-guth ! "  means  "  God 
and  Mary  be  with  you!"  In  recent  times,  where 
Irish  has  died  out,  the  salutation  is  changed  to  "  God 
bless  the  work ! "  or  "  God  save  all  here ! "  as  the 
case  may  be,  to  which  the  reply  is,  "  God  save  you 
kindly ! " 

I  have  seen  it  told  in  an  Irish  story  —  one  of  Mrs. 
S.  C.  Hall's,  I  think  —  that  a  peasant,  on  entering  a 
house,  says,  "  God  bless  all  here,  barrin'  the  dog  and 
the  cat ! "  This  is,  I  believe,  a  complete  mistake.  I 
have  never  heard  it  said,  nor  have  I  met  any  one 
who  has.  It  is,  however,  founded  on  the  fact  that 
the  peasantry  will  never  say,  "  God  bless  it ! "  to  a 


"GOD  BLESS  JT!»  in 

dog  or  cat,  though  they  do  say  it  to  everything  else, 
animate  or  inanimate.  Of  a  child  they  would  say, 
"  That's  a  nice  child ;  God  bless  it ! "  of  a  pig, 
"  That's  a  nate  pig ;  God  bless  it ! "  or  of  a  gun, 
"That's  a  beautiful  piece ;  God  bless  it!"  but  of  a 
dog  or  cat  only  "  That's  a  great  dog,"  or  "  That's  a 
purty  cat,"  but  never  "  God  bless  it ! "  indeed,  they 
would  think  it  profane  in  the  highest  degree  to  say 
so.  An  English  friend  who  was  staying  with  us, 
but  did  not  know  of  this  exception,  wishing  to  make 
himself  agreeable  to  a  countryman  who  showed  him 
a  dog,  said,  "  That's  a  fine  dog ;  God  bless  him ! "  I 
shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  that  peasant's 
face.  He  said  nothing,  but  devoutly  crossed  himself. 

I  have  seen  in  the  same  or  some  other  story  a 
similar  mistake,  where  a  peasant  is  made  to  say  to 
some  one  who  sneezes,  "  God  bless  you,  barrin'  it's 
the  snuff ! "  They  would  never  say  so.  If  one 
sneezes  in  a  natural  way,  they  always  say,  "God 
bless  you ! "  but  if  the  sneeze  is  caused  by  snuff,  or 
any  other  artificial  means,  they  never  bless  the 
sneezer. 

When  speaking  of  the  Baal  fires,  I  should  have 
said  that  fire  is  a  great  protection  against  fairies. 
Whenever  churning  is  going  on,  a  small  bit  of  burn- 
ing turf  is  put  under  the  churn  to  prevent  the 
abstraction  of  the  butter  by  the  "  good  people." 

Another  custom  is,  that  any  one  coming  into  a 


112  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

house  where  churning  is  going  on  must  take  the 
churn-dash  and  churn  for  a  few  seconds.  His  doing 
this  prevents  a  person  with  an  evil  eye,  should  any 
such  come  in,  charming  away  the  butter  or  other- 
wise spoiling  the  churning. 

The  belief  in  magpies  still  prevails.  It  is  lucky 
to  see  two,  unlucky  to  see  one.  The  ill  results  from 
seeing  only  one  can  be  mitigated,  sometimes  alto- 
gether escaped,  by  taking  off  your  hat  and  bowing 
to  the  bird.  This  belief  and  custom  is  not  very  old 
in  Ireland,  as  it  is  not  so  very  long  since  the  magpie 
was  first  introduced  here.  Holinshed,  when  speak- 
ing of  birds  in  Ireland,  says,  "  They  also  lacke  the 
bird  called  the  pie." 

There  are,  I  fear,  few  who  still  believe  that  after  a 
dip  in  the  Shannon  the  bather  will  never  blush  again. 

The  Blarney  stone  too,  I  am  afraid,  is  going  out 
of  date.  In  former  days,  whoever  kissed  it  was  at 
once  endowed  with  the  gift  of  the  blarney,  as  the 
old  song,  "  The  Groves  of  Blarney,"  tells  us. 

"  'Tis  there's  the  stone  that  whoever  kisses 

He  never  misses  to  grow  eloquent ; 
'Tis  he  may  clamber  to  a  lady's  chamber, 
Or  become  a  member  of  Parliament. 

"  A  noble  spouter  he'll  sure  turn  out,  or 

An  out  and  outer  to  be  let  alone ; 
Don't  try  to  hinder  him,  or  to  bewilder  him, 
For  he  is  a  pilgrim  from  the  Blarney  stone." 


THE  BLARNEY  STONE  113 

But  many,  especially  ladies,  who  climbed  to  the  top 
of  the  old  castle  for  the  express  purpose  of  kissing 
the  Blarney  stone,  found  that  none  of  these  good 
results  followed.  But  why?  Their  guide,  to  save 
himself  and  them  trouble,  had  made  them  kiss  the 
wrong  stone  —  a  little  stone  in  the  corner  of  the 
tower,  which  has  no  virtue  whatever. 

The  real  stone,  which  I  am  proud  to  say  I  kissed 
many  a  year  ago,  is  about  four  feet  below  the 
parapet  on  the  outside  of  the  castle.  To  kiss  it,  you 
must  be  held  by  the  legs,  head  downwards,  over  the 
battlements. 

The  "  wren  boys,"  on  Saint  Stephen's  Day,  still 
drag  on  a  poor  and  miserable  existence.  Half  a 
dozen  ragged  urchins,  carrying  a  little  bit  of  holly, 
with  a  wren,  or  more  often  some  other  little  dead 
bird,  tied  to  it,  come  to  the  hall  door  begging  for 
halfpence.  In  former  days,  in  the  south,  one  of  the 
Christmas  amusements,  which  we  looked  forward  to 
with  pleasure,  was  the  visit  of  the  wren  boys,  or 
"mummers,"  as  they  sometimes  called  themselves. 
There  were  generally  twelve  or  fourteen  of  them, 
fine  strapping  young  fellows,  between  eighteen  and 
five  and  twenty  years  of  age ;  they  were  dressed  in 
their  Sunday's  best,  with  many-coloured  ribbons  in 
their  hats,  and  scarfs  across  their  breasts.  One  of 
them  carried  the  holly  bush,  also  adorned  with 
ribbons,  on  top  of  which  was  the  wren.  Another 


114  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

was  dressed  up  as  the  aumadhawn,  or  fool;  his 
coat  was  a  sack,  with  holes  in  it  for  his  head,  legs, 
and  arms  to  come  through ;  his  head-dress  was  a 
hare-skin,  and  on  his  face  he  wore  a  hideous  mask ; 
in  his  hand  he  carried  a  stick  with  a  bladder  tied  to 
the  end  of  it.  His  duty  was  to  keep  order.  This  he 
did  by  whacking  all  offenders  with  this  weapon. 
The  party  was  accompanied  by  a  piper  or  a  fiddler, 
often  by  both;  they  were  followed  by  a  crowd  of 
country  boys  and  girls,  whom  the  aumadhawn  kept 
at  a  respectful  distance.  Thus  equipped  and  accom- 
panied, they  visited  the  houses  of  the  gentry  and 
strong  farmers. 

The  entertainment  began  by  the  singing  of  the 
wren  song,  of  which  I  remember  only  the  following 
verse :  — 

"  The  wren,  the  wren,  the  king  of  all  birds, 
Saint  Stephen's  Day,  was  caught  in  the  furze ; 
Although  he  is  little,  his  family's  great, 
Rise  up,  lords  and  ladies,  and  give  us  a  treat." 

Then  came  the  dancing  of  merry  jigs  and  reels. 
There  was  no  lack  of  partners  for  the  boys ;  amongst 
them  were  the  young  ladies  of  the  house  and  the 
servant-maids,  not  to  mention  the  pretty  girls  in 
the  crowd  that  followed  them.  When  they  had  had 
refreshments,  or  a  present  of  money  wherewith  to 
get  them,  off  they  went,  with  three  hearty  cheers 
for  the  master  and  mistress  of  the  house. 


WURRUMS  115 

The  dreadful  beast,  the  "  wurrum,"  half  fish,  half 
dragon,  still  survives  in  many  a  mountain  lake  — 
seldom  seen  indeed,  but  often  heard.  Near  our 
fishing  quarters  in  Kerry  there  are  two  such  lakes ; 
one,  the  beautiful  little  lake  at  the  head  of  the 
Blackwater  river,  called  Lough  Brin,  from  Brin,  or 
Bran,  as  he  is  now  called,  the  direful  wurrum 
which  inhabits  it.  The  man  who  minds  the  boat 
there,  speaks  with  awe  of  Bran ;  he  tells  me  he  has 
never  seen  him,  and  hopes  he  never  may,  but  has 
often  heard  him  roaring  on  a  stormy  night.  On 
being  questioned  as  to  what  the  noise  was  like,  he 
said  it  was  like  the  roaring  of  a  young  bull.  To 
my  suggestion  that  perhaps  "  it  might  have  been  a 
young  bull,"  he  made  no  reply,  but  the  expression 
of  his  face  showed  what  he  thought  of  the  levity,  or 
perhaps  even  the  irreverence,  of  the  remark. 

Some  miles  further  on,  between  Lough  Brin  and 
Glencar,  there  is  another  lake,  from  which  two 
years  ago  a  boy,  while  bathing,  was  driven  and 
chased  by  the  dreadful  wurrum  which  dwells  in 
it.  It  bit  him  on  the  back,  and  hunted  him  all  the 
way  home,  where  he  arrived  naked  and  bleeding : 
he  had  not  waited  even  to  take  up  his  clothes.  On 
being  asked  what  the  beast  was  like,  he  said,  "  'Twas 
something  like  the  form  of  a  donkey."  What  may 
have  really  happened  to  the  boy  we  have  never 
been  able  to  discover. 


n6  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

On  the  opposite  side  of  Kenmare  Bay  is  still  to 
be  seen  one  of  these  wurrums  of  enormous  size. 
It  was  slain  by  St.  Patrick,  and  turned  into  stone, 
and,  as  a  worm-like  ledge  of  rock,  now  winds  along 
the  side  of  Coom  na  Peastha  ("the  Valley  of  the 
Worm").  St.  Patrick,  as  is  well  known,  banished 
all  venomous  and  poisonous  creatures  from  Ireland. 
His  feats  in  this  direction  are  celebrated  in  the  well- 
known  song  in  his  praise,  in  the  following  verses :  — 

"  Nine  hundred  thousand  vipers  blue 

He  charmed  with  sweet  discourses, 
And  dined  on  them  at  Killaloe 
In  soups  and  second  courses. 
When  blind  worms,  crawling  through  the  grass, 
Disgusted  all  the  nation, 
He  gave  them  a  rise 
That  opened  their  eyes 
To  a  sense  of  their  situation. 

"  There's  not  a  mile  in  Ireland's  isle 

Where  dirty  vermin  musters 
But  there  he  put  his  neat  fore-foot, 
And  murdered  them  in  clusters. 
The  frogs  went  hop, 
The  toads  went  flop, 
Splash,  dash  into  the  water ; 

The  snakes  committed  suicide 
To  save  themselves  from  slaughter. 

"  Oh  success  attend  Saint  Patrick's  fist, 

For  he's  the  saint  so  clever  ; 
He  gave  the  snakes  and  toads  a  twist, 
And  bothered  them  for  ever." 


TOO   WILD  FOR  ST.   PATRICK  117 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  there  still  exists  a  species 
of  toad  (the  natchet,  I  think)  in  the  barony  of  Iver- 
agh,  in  the  west  of  Kerry.  I  was  fishing  in  the 
Carah  river  the  first  time  I  saw  them.  I  said  to 
two  countrymen,  who  were  standing  by,  "  How  was 
it  that  these  toads  escaped  Saint  Patrick  ? "  "Well, 
now,  yer  honour,"  said  one  of  them,  "  It's  what  I'm 
tould  that  when  Saint  Patrick  was  down  in  these 
parts  he  went  up  the  Reeks,  and  when  he  seen  what 
a  wild  and  dissolute  place  Iveragh  was,  he  wouldn't 
go  any  further;  and  that's  the  rason  them  things 
does  be  here  still."  "  "Well  now,  yer  honour,"  said 
the  other  fellow,  "  I  wouldn't  altogether  give  into 
that,  for  av  coorse  the  saint  was,  inany's  the  time, 
in  worse  places  than  Iveragh.  It's  what  I  hear,  yer 
honour,  that  it  was  a  lady  that  sent  them  from  Eng- 
land in  a  letter  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago." 

Possibly  they  may  have  been  imported.  I  know 
that  many  attempts  have  been  made  to  introduce 
snakes  and  vipers  into  Ireland — happily,  so  far, 
unsuccessfully. 

Of  the  effect  of  the  soil  of  Ireland  on  toads  and 
snakes,  Ilolinshed,  in  his  "  Chronicles,"  gives  the 
following  anecdotes :  — 

"  Certeine  merchants  affirme,  that  when  they  had 
unladen  their  ships,  in  Ireland,  they  found,  by  hap, 
some  toads  under  their  balast.  And  they  had  no 
sooner  cast  them  on  the  shore,  than  they  would  puffe 


n8  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

and  swell  unmeasurablie,  and  shortlie  after  turning 
up  their  bellies,  they  would  burst  in  sunder. 

"And  not  onlie  the  earth  and  dust  of  Ireland,  but 
also  the  verie  thongs  of  Irish  leather  have  the  verie 
same  force  and  virtue.  I  have  seene  it,  saith  Cam- 
brensis,  experimented,  that  a  toad  being  incompassed 
with  a  thong  of  Irish  leather,  and  creeping  thither- 
ward, indevoring  to  have  skipt  over  it,  suddenlie 
reculed  backe,  as  though  it  had  beene  rapt  in  the 
head  ;  whereupon  it  began  to  sprall  to  the  other 
side.  But  at  length  perceiving  that  the  thong  did 
embaie  it  of  all  parts,  it  began  to  thirle,  and  as  it 
were  to  dig  the  earth,  where  finding  an  hole,  it 
slunke  awaie  in  the  presence  of  sundrie  persons. 

"It  happened  also  in  my  time,  saith  Giraldus 
Cambrensis,  that  in  the  north  of  England  a  knot 
of  yongkers  tooke  a  nap  in  the  fields :  as  one  of  them 
laie  snorting  with  his  mouth  gaping,  as  though  lie 
would  have  caught  flies,  it  happened  that  a  snake 
or  adder  slipt  into  his  mouth,  and  glided  down  into 
his  bellie,  where  harboring  itselfe,  it  began  to  roame 
up  and  downe,  and  to  feede  on  the  yoong  man  his 
entrals.  The  patient  being  sore  distracted  and 
above  measure  tormented  with  the  biting  pangs  of 
this  greedie  ghest,  incessantlie  praied  to  God,  that 
if  it  stood  with  His  gratious  will,  either  wliolie  to 
bereave  him  of  his  life,  or  else  of  his  unspeakable 
mercie  to  ease  him  of  his  paine.  The  worme  would 


THE  SNAKE  CURE  119 

never  ceasse  from  gnawing  the  patient  his  carcasse, 
but  when  he  had  taken  his  repast,  and  his  meat  was 
no  sooner  digested,  than  it  would  give  a  fresh  onset 
in  boring  his  guts.  Diverse  remidies  were  sought, 
and  medicins,  pilgrimages  to  saints,  but  all  could  not 
prevaile.  Being  at  length  schooled  by  the  grave 
advice  of  some  sage  and  expert  father,  that  willed 
him  to  make  his  speedie  repair  to  Ireland,  would 
tract  no  time,  but  busked  himselfe  over  sea  and 
arrived  in  Ireland.  He  did  no  sooner  drinke  of  the 
water  of  that  Hand,  and  taken  of  the  vittels  of  Ire- 
land, but  he  forthwith  kild  the  snake,  and  so  being 
lustie  and  livlie,  he  returned  into  England."  Ilolin- 
shed  goes  on  to  say,  "There  be  some  that  move 
question,  whether  the  wrant  of  venemous  wormes  in 
Ireland  be  to  be  imputed  to  the  propertie  of  the 
soile,  or  to  be  ascribed  to  the  praiers  of  Saint  Pat- 
rike,  who  converted  that  Hand.  The  greater  part 
father  it  on  Saint  Patrike,  especiallie  such  as  write 
his  life  as  well  apart,  as  in  the  legend  of  Irish 
saints." 

There  are  still  in  Ireland  two  small  creatures 
which  the  saint  might  as  well  have  abolished  when 
his  hand  was  in,  as  they  are,  or  certainly  were  in 
my  early  days,  held  in  great  abhorrence  by  the 
peasantry  in  the  south  of  Ireland.  One  is  a  small 
brown  lizard,  which  is  occasionally  found  under 
stones ;  the  other  is  a  long,  ugly-looking  beetle, 


120  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

black  and  shining,  with  a  forceps  in  his  tail,  which, 
when  he  is  disturbed,  he  turns  up  over  .his  back. 
A  remarkably  disagreeable-looking  beast  he  is. 
The  belief  was  that  the  little  lizard,  or  ardlucher 
(as  they  called  it  in  Irish),  if  you  happened  to  fall 
asleep  in  a  field  or  a  wood,  would  watch  its  oppor- 
tunity, slip  into  your  mouth,  and  glide  down  into 
your  inside,  where  it  would  feed  and  fatten  till  you 
pined  away  and  died.  I  do  not  think  they  had  any 
English  name  for  the  other  beast,  which  they  called 
a  darraghdeoul  (red  devil).  The  tradition  as  to 
him  was  that  he  had,  in  some  form  or  way,  guided 
or  accompanied  Judas  Iscariot  to  the  garden  of 
Gethsemane,  the  night  of  our  Lord's  betrayal.  I 
have  often  seen  a  country  boy  kill  one  of  them. 
The  way  he  did  it  was  always  the  same ;  he  held 
it  on  the  thumb-nail  of  his  left  hand  and  crushed 
it  with  the  thumb-nail  of  his  right  hand.  lie 
believed  that  if  he  killed  it  so,  saying  at  the  same 
time  a  "  Pater "  or  an  "  Ave,"  he  was  forgiven 
seven  deadly  sins ;  but  unless  the  execution  was 
carried  out  in  strict  conformity  with  the  established 
rules  no  good  result  followed. 

In  some  places  pilgrimages  are  still  made  to 
holy  lakes  and  wells  of  well-known  healing  virtues  ; 
and  although  the  fairy  doctors  of  whom  I  have 
spoken  are  now  almost  unknown,  there  still  prevail, 
or  lately  did  prevail,  some  peculiar  ways  of  curing 


AN  ASS  FOR    THE   CHIN  COUGH  121 

sickness.  Amongst  them  were  two  modes  of  deal- 
ing with  the  whooping-cough,  or  "  chin  cough,"  as 
the  peasantry  call  it.  One  is  this :  if  any  one 
should  happen  to  pass  by  riding  a  piebald  horse  the 
father  or  mother  of  the  whooper  runs  after  him, 
crying  out,  "  You  that  rides  the  piebald  horse, 
what's  good  for  the  chin  cough  ?  "  Whatever  the 
rider  prescribes,  no  matter  how  absurd,  is  procured 
and  administered  to  the  patient.  This  remedy, 
though  the  surest  in  its  results,  cannot  always  be 
secured,  as  it  requires  the  presence  of  a  piebald 
horse,  and  a  man  riding  it.  The  other,  though  not 
quite  so  much  to  be  depended  on,  is  always  at  hand. 
It  is  to  pass  the  child  three  times  over  and  under  a 
donkey,  certain  prayers  being  said  during  the  opera- 
tion. But  there  are  donkeys  and  donkeys.  Some 
are  all  but  useless,  while  others  are  nearly  as  good 
as  the  piebald  horse.  I  remember  one,  forty  years 
ago,  in  Cork,  famous*  for  his  powers.  He  was  the 
property  of  one  Ned  Sullivan,  who  supported  him- 
self and  a  large  family  on  what  this  remarkable 
donkey  earned  for  him.  Ned  wandered  through  the 
city  and  surrounding  country  day  after  day  with  his 
ass,  crying  out,  "Will  any  one  come  under  my  ass 
for  the  chin  cough  ?  " 

Illnesses  are  also  treated  by  remedies  of  com- 
paratively recent  date.  Some  five  and  forty  years 
ago  a  temperance  medal  was  found  to  be  a  specific 


122  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

for  every  ailment ;  not  all  medals,  however,  but 
only  those  which  had  been  blest  and  given  by 
Father  Mathew,  the  great  apostle  of  temperance. 
Rubbing  with  one  of  these  at  once  relieved  rheu- 
matic pains.  I  have  known  one  to  be  tied  on  the 
back  of  a  man's  hand  to  cure  a  boil,  and  I  have  seen 
ophthalmia  treated  by  hanging  two  of  these  medals 
over  a  girl's  eyes. 

More  recently  still,  Knock  Chapel,  in  the  county 
of  Mayo,  has  been  famous  for  its  healing  powers ; 
but  it,  like  the  doctor,  sometimes  has  its  failures. 
Of  one  of  these  I  was  told  by  a  Roman  Catholic 

gentleman,  my  friend  Mr.  D ,  a  large  employer 

of  labour.  One  of  his  overseers  had  for  years 
suffered  much  from  his  liver.  Having  consulted 
many  doctors  and  spent  much  money  on  them,  and 
being  nothing  better,  he  asked  his  employer  to  allow 
him  to  go  for  a  few  days  to  Knock  to  try  what  it 
could  do  for  him.  On  his  return  Mr.  D —  -  said  to 
him- 

"  Well,  James,  I  hope  you  are  better  ?  " 

James.  "  Indeed,  I'm  no  better,  thank  you,  sir ; 
it's  what  I  think  I'm  rather  worse." 

Mr.  D.  "  But  did  you  go  through  all  the  forms 
required  there  ? " 

James.  "  Indeed  I  did,  sir,  and  took  all  the 
rounds  and  said  all  the  prayers,  but  it  was  all  of 
no  use ;  not  but  what  it's  a  grand  place.  It  would 


A   DOCTOR'S  EPITAPH  123 

astonish  you  to  see  all  the  sticks  and  crutches 
hanging  up  there,  left  behind  by  poor  cripples  that 

went  home  cured.  It's  my  opinion,  Mr.  D ,  that 

for  rheumatism  and  the  like  of  that  it's  a  grand 
place  entirely  ;  but  as  for  the  liver,  it's  not  worth 
a  d ." 

Some  men  are  sceptical  about  the  power  of  medals 
and  of  Knock  as  others  are  as  to  that  of  doctors. 
Of  the  latter,  was  a  peasant  lad,  who,  when  asked 
by  a  gentleman  how  his  father  was,  replied  — 

"  Ah,  my  poor  father  died  last  Wednesday,  your 
honour." 

"  I'm  sorry  indeed  to  hear  it,"  said  the  other. 
"  It  must  have  been  very  sudden.  What  doctor 
attended  him  ? " 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  "  my  poor  father  wouldn't 
have  a  doctor;  he  always  used  to  say  he'd  like  to 
die  a  natural  death." 

Of  such,  too,  was  my  friend  B ,  who  was  one 

of  a  committee  of  subscribers  to  a  fund  for  a  monu- 
ment to  be  erected  in  Mount  Jerome  Cemetery  to 
the  memory  of  a  celebrated  Dublin  physician.  A 
discussion  arose  as  to  the  inscription.  My  friend  rec- 
ommended that  it  should  be  the  same  as  that  to  Sir 
Christopher  Wren  in  St.  Paul's  — - "  Si  monumentum 
requiris  circumspice." 

Doctor  Xedley,  physician  to  the  Dublin  Metro- 
politan Police,  told  me  he  heard  a  voice  from  the 


124  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

crowd  call  out,  "  Three  cheers  for  Doctor  Nedley ! 
He  killed  more  policemen  than  ever  the  Fenians 
did!" 

But  if  some  men  are  sceptical,  others  place  an 
implicit  faith  in  the  doctor's  prescriptions ;  and  of 
these  was  a  man  in  Limerick  who  went  to  the  under- 
taker to  order  a  coffin  for  Pat  Connell. 

"Dear  me,"  said  the  undertaker,  "is  poor  Pat 
dead?" 

"No,  he's  not  dead  yet,"  answered  the  other; 
"  but  he'll  die  to-night,  for  the  doctor  says  he  can't 
live  till  morning,  and  he  knows  what  he  gave  him." 


"REMEMBER  MITCHELSTOWN"  125 


CHAPTER  IX 

Mitchelstown  remembered  —  A  Night  on  the  Galtees  —  The 
weird  horse  —  Killing,  or  murder?  —  The  ballad  of  "  Shamus 
O'Brien"  —  A  letter  from  Samuel  Lover. 

IN  a  very  hot  July  five  and  fifty  years  ago,  a  walk- 
ing party  left  my  father's  house  to  visit  some  places 
of  note  in  the  counties  of  Limerick,  Cork,  and  Tip- 
perary.  Our  party  consisted  of  John  Walsh,  after- 
wards Master  of  the  Eolls  in  Ireland ;  John  Jellett, 
the  late  Provost  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin ;  Gaetano 
Egedi,  an  Italian  friend  of  ours;  my  brother,  and 
myself.  The  weather  being  unusually  warm,  our 
plan  was  to  start  each  day  late  in  the  afternoon, 
arriving  at  our  destination  about  midnight,  and 
visiting  next  day  whatever  was  of  interest  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Towards  the  end  of  our  tour  we 
arrived  late  one  night  at  Mitchelstown,  famous  for 
its  caves,  and  now  also  of  sacred  political  memory. 
Next  morning  we  set  oif,  immediately  after  break- 
fast, for  the  caves,  which  are  about  six  miles  from 
the  town,  near  the  village  of  Bally poreen,  celebrated 
in  the  old  Irish  song,  "The  Wedding  of  Bally  po- 
reen," in  which  the  wedding  feast  is  thus  described  — 


126  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"There  was  bacon  and  greens,  but  the  turkey  was  spoiled  ; 
Potatoes  dressed  every  way,  roasted  and  boiled ; 
Red  herrings,  plum-pudding  —  the  priest  got  a  snipe; 
Cobladdy,  stiff  dumpling,  and  cow-heel  and  tripe. 
Oh  !  they  ate  till  they  could  ate  no  more,  sir ; 
Then  the  whisky  came  pouring  galore,  sir. 
How  Terence  McManus  did  roar,  sir, 
At  the  wedding  of  Ballyporeeii !  " 

The  caves  are  in  the  cavernous  limestone  forma- 
tion, and  not  unlike  those  of  Derbyshire.  We 
entered  by  a  sort  of  ladder,  which,  after  a  descent 
of  about  thirty  feet,  leads  to  a  long  and  narrow 
sloping  passage,  ending  in  a  chamber  about  eighty 
feet  in  diameter,  and  thirtv  feet  high.  From  this 

*/ 

lofty  hall  a  series  of  passages  lead  to  other  chambers 
of  various  sizes  and  heights ;  in  many  of  them  the 
stalactites  from  the  roof  uniting  with  the  stalagmites 
from  the  floor  form  white  pillars  of  glistening- 
brightness;  the  whole  effect  of  these  halls  when 
lighted  up  is  very  beautiful. 

Having  spent  most  of  the  day  in  the  caves,  we 
started  about  seven  in  the  afternoon  for  Tipperary, 
which  we  hoped  to  reach  by  midnight.  To  go 
there  by  road  would  have  been  a  walk  of  some 
five  and  twenty  or  thirty  miles,  while  straight 
across  the  Galtee  mountains  was  little  more  than 
half  the  distance ;  we  therefore  adopted  the  latter 
route.  Lest  we  should  lose  our  way,  we  secured  the 
services  of  a  guide,  a  fine  young  peasant,  who  said 


A  NIGHT  ON  THE  G ALTERS  127 

he  knew  the  way  across  the  mountains  well.  He 
could  speak  but  little  English ;  this  however  did 
not  matter  much,  as  we  only  wanted  him  to  lead  us. 
Off  we  set  on  this  splendid  summer  evening,  bright 
and  calm.  After  a  while  we  sat  down  for  a  little 
rest  among  the  heather,  high  up  on  Galtee  More.  It 
was  a  glorious  sight  as  we  looked  back  on  the  great 
plain  below  us,  with  its  green  pastures  and  waving 
cornfields  bathed  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun. 
We  could  not  rest  long,  and  were  soon  on  foot  again, 
and  had  nearly  reached  the  crest  of  the  range,  when 
suddenly  a  fog  rolled  down  upon  us,  so  thick  that 
we  could  not  see  more  than  thirty  or  forty  yards. 
On  we  trudged,  vainly  hoping  that  the  fog  would 
lift;  but,  far  from  doing  so,  it  grew  darker  every 
hour.  We  wandered  on  till  we  had  crossed  the 
summit ;  but  soon  after  we  and  our  guide  had  com- 
pletely lost  our  way.  On  reaching  the  edge  of  a 
lake  we  asked  the  guide  in  which  direction  we 
should  go  round  it,  and  found,  as  we  had  suspected, 
that  he  was  as  hopelessly  lost  as  we  were,  and  saw 
plainly  that  he  had  never  known  that  there  was 
a  lake  there.  We  went  round  by  its  margin  till  we 
came  to  a  small  stream  flowing  from  it ;  we  followed 
its  course,  knowing  that  it  must  lead  us  to  the  lower 
lands. 

It  was  night  now,  and  though  the  fog  was  as  thick 
as  ever,  it  was  not  altogether  dark,  as  some  little. 


128  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

moonlight  shone  through  it.  The  guide  tried  to 
cheer  us  up  by  constantly  saying,  "  Nabochlish " 
("  never  mind  "),  "  the  houses  is  near,  the  houses  is 
near."  Once,  some  fifteen  or  twenty  yards  from  us, 
a  horse  galloped  past ;  as  well  as  we  could  see  he 
was  of  a  chestnut  colour.  We  were  too  anxious  to 
find  our  way  to  think  much  of  this ;  but  our  guide 
brightened  up  immensely.  "  See  the  coppel "  (the 
horse),  "  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  tell'd  ye  the  houses 
is  near."  But,  alas !  near  the  houses  were  not,  and 
we  had  yet  before  us  many  a  scramble  through 
brakes  of  gorse,  and  many  a  tumble  over  rocks  and 
tussocks.  By  this  time  the  moon  had  gone  down, 
and  we  were  in  complete  darkness.  The  fog  lifted 
as  suddenly  as  it  had  come  upon  us.  I  forget  which 
of  us  suggested  that  we  should  all  shout  together  as 
loudly  as  we  could,  and  thus,  perhaps,  attract  the 
notice  of  some  dweller  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain. 
After  several  shouts,  to  our  joy,  we  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance an  answering  shout,  and  soon  saw  a  bright 
light  in  the  direction  from  which  the  welcome  sounds 
had  come.  Shout  answered  shout  as  we  hurried 
down ;  at  times  the  light  went  out,  but  soon  blazed 
up  again. 

At  last,  on  the  opposite  side  of  a  narrow  glen 
full  of  rocks  and  brushwood,  we  saw  the  figures  of 
men  and  women  lighted  up  by  a  flaming  sheaf  of 
straw,  which  one  of  the  men  held  up  high  in  his 


THE   YALLA   HORSE  129 

hands.  We  quickly  crossed  the  glen,  and  were  at 
once  surrounded.  "Who  are  ye?"  "What  do 
ye  want  ? "  "  Are  ye  peelers  ?  "  "  What  sort  of 
gentlemen  are  ye  at  all  to  be  on  the  mountains 
this  time  of  night  ? "  To  these  and  many  suchlike 
questions  we  gave  the  best  answers  we  could. 

After  a  brief  conversation,  in  Irish,  with  our 
guide,  they  led  us  to  a  large  thatched  farm-house ; 
the  habitation  highest  on  the  hills.  They  explained 
to  us  that  they  and  some  of  their  neighbours  had 
been  at  the  fair  at  Bansha  and  stayed  out  late,  and 
just  as  they  got  home  had  heard  our  shouts.  A 
huge  turf  fire  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  at  which 
we  sat  drying  our  nether  garments  which  were 
thoroughly  drenched ;  great  mugs  of  hot  goats'  milk 
were  supplied  to  warm  our  insides,  our  host  inform- 
ing us  that  he  had  upwards  of  eighty  goats  on  the 
mountain.  He  and  the  boys  (all  unmarried  men  are 
boys  in  the  south)  and  girls  sat  up  with  us  by  the 
cheery  fire,  talking,  joking,  and  telling  stories.  After 
some  time  my  brother  happened  to  say  to  the  man 
of  the  house,  "  I  suppose  that  was  your  horse  that 
passed  us  on  the  mountain  ? " 

All  were  silent,  and  looked  one  at  another  half- 
incredulous,  half-frightened.  One  of  them,  after  a 
pause,  said,  "  There  is  no  horse  on  the  mountain. 
What  sort  of  a  horse  was  it  that  ye  thought  ye 
seen  ? " 


130  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  A  chestnut  horse,"  said  we. 

"  Oh,  begorra  ! "  said  our  friend  ;  "  they  seen  the 
yalla  horse ! "  Then  turning  to  us,  "  It's  a  wonder 
ye  all  cum  down  alive  and  safe ;  it  is  few  that  sees 
the  yalla  horse  that  has  luck  after." 

This  was  one  of  the  superstitions  of  the  dwellers 
on  the  Galtees.  We  afterwards  thought  that  it 
might  have  been  a  red  deer  that  passed  us,  as  at 
that  time  it  was  supposed  that  there  were  a  few  of 
them,  wild  ones,  still  on  the  mountain.  From  what 
our  entertainers  told  us  it  appears  that  had  not  the 
night  been  so  calm,  we  should  have  been  in  con- 
siderable danger  of  an  attack  by  the  enchanted 
"  wurrum,"  who  had  his  abode  in  the  dark  lake  we 
had  passed ;  but  fortunately  for  us  it  is  only  on  wild 
and  stormy  nights  that,  with  fearful  roars,  he  emerges 
from  the  lake  to  waylay  benighted  wanderers. 

One  of  the  boys  now  asked  us  whether  we  had 
heard  what  had  happened  that  day.  As  we  had 
not,  he  told  us  that  "a  very  responsible  man," 
as  he  called  him,  had  been  shot  dead  that  morn- 
ing hard  by  towards  Bansha.  (He  was,  I  think, 
Mr.  Massey  Dawson's  steward  or  forester.)  lie 
did  not  exactly  know,  he  said,  why  the  man  had 
been  shot,  but  thought  he  was  hard  on  the  people 
about  the  price  of  timber,  and  had  also  dismissed 
some  labourers. 

Another  of  the  boys  said,  "Now,  why  didn't  they 


A  FOOLISH   TURN  131 

give  him  a  good  batin',  and  not  to  go  kill  him 
entirely  ? " 

"  Ah,  then,  I  suppose,"  said  the  other,  "  they  kem 
from  a  distance  and  didn't  like  to  go  home  without 
finishing  the  job." 

"  But,"  said  the  other  very  seriously,  "  what  will 
them  chaps  do  on  the  day  of  judgment  ? " 

"  Oich,"  said  his  friend,  "  what  does  that  signify, 
sure  many  a  boy  done  a  foolish  turn." 

It  is  not  improbable  that  our  friends  knew  per- 
fectly well  who  had  been  engaged  in  the  murder. 
However  that  may  be,  early  next  morning  we  bid 
our  entertainers  a  hearty  farewell,  and,  again  re- 
freshed with  hot  goats'  milk,  started  for  the  town 
of  Tipperary,  passing  through  the  glen  of  Aherlow, 
then  one  of  the  most  disturbed  places  in  Ireland, 
about  which  the  saying  amongst  the  people  was, 
"  Wherever  the  devil  is  by  day  he  is  sure  to  be  in 
the  glen  of  Aherlow  by  night."  It  was  the  only 
time  my  brother  saw  that  lovely  valley,  which  he 
made  the  home  of  Shamus  O'Brien  in  the  popular 
ballad  which  I  give  here,  as  I  do  not  think  a  correct 
version  of  it  can  elsewhere  be  found. 

"  SHAMUS  O'BRIEN 

"Just  after  the  war,  in  the  year  ninety-eight, 
As  soon  as  the  boys  were  all  scattered  and  bate, 
'Twas  the  custom,  .whenever  a  peasant  was  caught, 


132  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

To  hang  him  by  trial,  barring  such  as  was  shot. 

There  was  trial  by  jury  goin'  on  by  daylight, 

And  the  martial  law  hangin'  the  lavings  by  night. 

It's  them  was  hard  times  for  an  honest  gossoon  : 

If  he  missed  in  the  judges,  he'd  meet  a  dragoon ; 

And  whether  the  judge  or  the  soldiers  gave  sentence, 

The  divil  a  much  time  they  allowed  for  repentance. 

And  it's  many's  the  fine  boy  was  then  on  his  keeping, 

With  small  share  of  restin',  or  atin',  or  sleepin', 

And  because  they  loved  Erin,  and  scorned  to  sell  it, 

A  prey  for  the  bloodhound,  a  mark  for  the  bullet, 

Unsheltered  by  night,  and  unrested  by  day, 

With  the  heath  for  their  barrack,  revenge  for  their  pay. 

And  the  bravest  and  hardiest  boy  of  them  all 

Was  Shamus  O'Brien,  from  the  town  of  Glengall. 

His  limbs  were  well  set,  and  his  body  was  light, 

And  the  keen  fanged  hound  hadn't  teeth  half  so  white; 

But  his  face  was  as  pale  as  the  face  of  the  dead, 

And  his  cheek  never  warmed  with  the  blush  of  the  red; 

And  for  all  that  he  wasn't  an  ugly  young  boy, 

For  the  divil  himself  couldn't  blaze  with  his  eye, 

So  funny  and  so  wicked,  so  dark  and  so  bright, 

Like  the  fire-flash  that  crosses  the  depth  of  the  night. 

And  he  was  the  best  mower  that  ever  has  been, 

And  the  illigantest  hurler  that  ever  was  seen  ; 

In  fincin'  he  gave  Patrick  Mooney  a  cut, 

And  in  jumpin'  he  bate  Tim  Maloney  a  foot. 

For  lightness  of  foot  there  wasn't  his  peer, 

For,  begorra,  you'd  think  he'd  outrun  the  red  deer; 

And  his  dancin'  was  such  that  the  men  used  to  stare, 

And  the  women  turned  crazy,  he  had  done  it  so  quare  — 

And,  begorra,  the  whole  world  gave  in  to  him  there. 

And  it's  he  was  the  boy  that  was  hard  to  be  caught, 

And  it's  often  he  ran,  and  it's  often  he  fought, 

And  it's  many's  the  one  can  remember  right  well 


USHAMUS  O'BRIEN"  133 

The  quare  things  he  done ;  and  it's  often  I  heerd  tell 

How  he  frightened  the  magistrate  in  Cahirbally, 

And  escaped  through  the  soldiers  in  Aherlow  Valley, 

And  leathered  the  yeomen  himself  agin'  four, 

And  stretched  the  two  strongest  on  old  Galtimore. 

But  the  fox  must  sleep  sometimes,  the  wild  deer  must  rest, 

And  treachery  preys  on  the  blood  of  the  best. 

After  many  a  brave  action  of  power  and  pride, 

And  many  a  hard  night  on  the  mountain's  bleak  side, 

And  a  thousand  great  dangers  and  toils  overpast, 

In  the  darkness  of  night  he  was  taken  at  last. 

"  Now,  Shamus,  look  back  on  the  beautiful  moon, 
For  the  door  of  the  prison  must  close  on  you  soon  ; 
And  take  your  last  look  at  her  dim  lovely  light, 
That  falls  on  the  mountain  and  valley  this  night; 
One  look  at  the  village,  one  look  at  the  flood, 
And  one  at  the  sheltering,  far-distant  wood. 
Farewell  to  the  forest,  farewell  to  the  hill, 
And  farewell  to  the  friends  that  will  think  of  you  still ; 
Faiewell  to  the  hurlin',  the  pattern,  and  wake, 
And  farewell  to  the  girl  that  would  die  for  your  sake. 

"  Well,  twelve  soldiers  brought  him  to  Maryboro'  jail, 
And  the  turnkey  received  him,  refusin'  all  bail ; 
The  fleet  limbs  were  chained,  and  the  strong  hands  were 

bound, 

And  he  laid  down  his  length  on  the  cold  prison  ground. 
And  the  dreams  of  his  childhood  carne  over  him  there, 
As  gentle  and  soft  as  the  sweet  summer  air ; 
And  happy  remembrances  crowding  on  ever, 
As  fast  as  the  foam  flakes  drift  down  the  river, 
Bringing  fresh  to  his  heart  merry  days  long  gone  by, 
Till  the  tears  gathered  heavy  and  thick  in  his  eye. 
But  the  tears  didn't  fall,  for  the  pride  of  his  heart 


134  SEVENTY  YEARS   O1-*  IRISH  LIFE 

Wouldn't  suffer  one  drop  down  his  pale  cheek  to  start ; 
And  he  sprang  to  his  feet  in  the  dark  prison  cave, 
And  he  swore  with  the  fierceness  that  misery  gave, 
By  the  hopes  of  the  good,  by  the  cause  of  the  brave, 
That  when  he  was  mouldering  in  his  cold  grave 
His  enemies  never  should  have  it  to  boast 
His  scorn  of  their  vengeance  one  moment  was  lost; 
His  bosom  might  bleed,  but  his  cheek  should  be  dry, 
For  undaunted  he'd  live,  and  undaunted  he'd  die. 

'  Well,  as  soon  as  a  few  weeks  were  over  and  gone, 
The  terrible  day  of  the  trial  came  on. 
There  was  such  a  crowd  there  was  scarce  room  to  stand, 
With  soldiers  on  guard,  and  dragoons  sword  in  hand ; 
And  the  court-house  so  full  that  the  people  was  bothered, 
And  attorneys  and  criers  on  the  point  of  being  smothered ; 
And  counsellors  almost  given  over  for  dead, 
And  the  jury  sittin'  up  in  their  box  overhead; 
And  the  judge  settled  out,  so  detarmined  and  big, 
With  his  gown  on  his  back,  and  an  illigant  new  wig. 
And  silence  was  called,  and  the  minute  it  was  said, 
The  court  was  as  still  as  the  heart  of  the  dead, 
And  they  heard  but  the  opening  of  one  prison  lock, 
And  Shamus  O'Brien  came  into  the  dock. 
For  one  minute  he  turned  his  eye  round  on  the  throng, 
And  he  looked  on  the  bars,  so  firm  and  so  strong, 
And  he  saw  that  he  hadn't  a  hope  nor  a  friend, 
A  chance  to  escape  nor  a  word  to  defend ; 
And  he  folded  his  arms  as  he  stood  there  alone, 
As  calm  and  as  cold  as  a  statue  of  stone. 
And  they  read  a  big  writin',  a  yard  long  at  laste, 
And  Jim  didn't  understand  it  or  mind  it  a  taste. 
And  the  judge  took  a  big  pinch  of  snuff,  and  he  says, 
'  Are  you  guilty  or  not,  Jim  O'Brien,  if  you  plase?' 
And  they  all  held  their  breath  in  the  silence  of  dread  ; 


"SHAM US  O^BRIEN"  135 

And  Shamus  O'Brien  made  answer  and  said, 

'  My  lord,  if  you  ask  me  if  in  my  life-time 

I  thought  any  treason  or  done  any  crime 

That  should  call  to  my  cheek,  as  I  stand  alone  here, 

The  hot  blush  of  shame  or  the  coldness  of  fear, 

Though  I  stood  by  the  grave  to  receive  my  death-blow, 

Before  God  and  the  world  I  answer  you,  "  No ! " 

But  if  you  would  ask  me,  as  I  think  it  like, 

If  in  the  rebellion  I  carried  a  pike, 

And  fought  for  old  Ireland  from  the  first  to  the  close, 

And  shed  the  heart's  blood  of  her  bitterest  foes, 

I  answer  you,  "Yes !  "  and  I  tell  you  again, 

Though  I  stand  here  to  perish,  it's  my  glory  that  then 

In  her  cause  I  was  "willing  my  veins  should  run  dry, 

And  that  now  for  her  sake  I  am  ready  to  die.' 

Then  the  silence  was  great,  and  the  jury  smiled  bright, 

And  the  judge  wasn't  sorry  the  job  was  made  light; 

By  my  sowl !  it's  himself  was  the  crabbed  old  chap, 

In  a  twinklin'  he  pulled  on  his  ugly  black  cap. 

"  Then  Shamus's  mother,  in  the  crowd  standing  by, 
Called  out  to  the  judge  with  a  pitiful  cry : 
'  Oh,  judge  clarlin',  don't !  —  oh,  don't  say  the  word  ! 
The  crathur  is  young  ;  have  mercy,  my  lord ! 
He  was  foolish,  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  doin'; 
You  don't  know  him,  my  lord  —  oh,  don't  give  him  to  ruin  ! 
He's  the  kindliest  crathur,  the  tenderest  hearted, 
Don't  part  us  for  ever,  we  that's  so  long  parted  ! 
Judge,  mavourneen,  forgive  him !  forgive  him,  my  lord  ! 
And  God  will  forgive  you.     Oh,  don't  say  the  word  ! ' 

"  That  was  the  first  minute  that  O'Brien  was  shaken, 
When  he  saw  that  he  wasn't  quite  forgot  or  forsaken  ; 
And  down  his  pale  cheeks,  at  the  words  of  his  mother, 
The  big  tears  were  runnin"fast,  one  after  th'  other; 


136  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

And  he  tried  hard  to  hide  them  or  wipe  them  away, 

But  in  vain,  for  his  hands  were  too  fast  bound  that  day. 

And  two  or  three  times  he  endeavoured  to  spake, 

But  the  strong,  manly  voice  used  to  falter  and  break ; 

Till  at  last,  by  the  strength  of  his  high-mounting  pride, 

He  conquered  and  mastered  his  grief's  swelling  tide. 

'  And,'  says  he,  '  Mother  darlin',  don't  break  your  poor  heart, 

For  sooner  or  later  the  dearest  must  part. 

And  God  knows  it's  better  than  wandering  in  fear 

On  the  bleak,  trackless  mountain  among  the  wild  deer, 

To  lie  in  the  grave,  where  the  head,  hand,  and  breast 

From  thought,  labour,  and  sorrow  for  ever  shall  rest. 

Then,  mother,  my  darlin',  don't  cry  any  more, 

Don't  make  me  seem  broken  in  this  my  last  hour ; 

For  I  wish,  when  my  head  is  lyin'  under  the  raven, 

No  true  man  can  say  that  I  died  like  a  craven ! ' 

Then  towards  the  judge  Shamus  bowed  down  his  head, 

And  that  minute  the  solemn  death  sentence  was  said. 

"  The  morning  was  bright,  and  the  mist  rose  on  high, 
And  the  lark  whistled  merrily  in  the  clear  sky. 
But  why  are  the  men  standin'  idle  so  late? 
And  why  do  the  crowds  gather  fast  in  the  street? 
What  come  they  to  talk  of  ?  what  come  they  to  see  ? 
And  why  does  the  long  rope  hang  from  the  cross-tree? 
Now,  Shamus  O'Brien,  pray  fervent  and  fast ; 
May  the  saints  take  your  soul !  for  this  day  is  your  last ; 
Pray  fast,  and  pray  strong,  for  the  moment  is  nigh 
When,  strong,  proud,  and  great  as  you  are,  you  must  die. 
And  faster  and  faster  the  crowd  gathered  there  — 
Boys,  horses,  and  gingerbread,  just  like  a  fair; 
And  whisky  was  sellin',  and  cussamuck  too, 
And  ould  men  and  young  women  enjoyin'  the  view ; 
And  ould  Tim  Mulvany  he  made  the  remark, 
4  There  wasn't  such  a  sight  since  the  time  of  Noah's  ark.' 


"SHAMUS  O^BRIEN"  137 

And,  begorra,  'twas  true  for  him,  the  divil  such  a  scruge, 

Such  divarshin  and  crowds  was  known  since  the  deluge ! 

Ten  thousand  was  gathered  there,  if  there  was  one, 

All  waitin'  till  such  time  as  the  hangin'  'id  come  on. 

At  last  they  threw  open  the  big  prison  gate, 

And  out  come  the  sheriffs  and  soldiers  in  state, 

And  a  cart  in  the  middle,  and  Shamus  was  in  it, 

Not  paler,  but  prouder  than  ever  that  minute. 

And  as  soon  as  the  people  saw  Shamus  O'Brien, 

With  prayin'  and  blessin'  and  all  the  girls  cryin', 

A  wild,  wailin'  sound  came  on  by  degrees, 

Like  the  sound  of  the  lonesome  wind  bio  win'  through  ti'ees. 

On,  on  to  the  gallows  the  sheriffs  are  gone, 

And  the  cart  and  the  soldiers  go  steadily  on ; 

And  at  every  side  swellin'  around  of  the  cart, 

A  wild,  sorrowful  sound  that  would  open  your  heart. 

Now  under  the  gallows  the  cart  takes  its  stand, 

And  the  hangman  gets  up  with  the  rope  in  his  hand ; 

And  the  priest  gives  his  blessing  and  goes  down  on  the  ground, 

And  Shamus  O'Brien  throws  one  last  look  round ; 

Then  the  hangman  drew  near,  and  the  people  grew  still, 

Young  faces  turned  sickly  and  warm  hearts  grew  chill. 

And  all  being  ready,  his  neck  was  made  bare 

For  the  gripe  of  the  life-stranglin'  cord  to  prepare  ; 

And  the  good  priest  has  left  him,  having  said  his  last  prayer. 

But  the  good  priest  done  more,  for  his  hands  he  unbound, 

And  with  one  daring  spring  Jim  has  leaped  on  the  ground  ! 

Bang  !  bang  !  go  the  carbines,  and  clash  go  the  sabres ! 

'  He's  not  down  !  he's  alive  still !  now  stand  to  him,  neighbours  ! 

Through  the  smoke  and  the  horses,  he's  into  the  crowd ! 

By  the  heavens  he  is  free  ! '  than  thunder  more  loud, 

By  one  shout  from  the  people  the  heavens  were  shaken  — 

One  shout  that  the  dead  of  the  world  might  awaken. 

Your  swords  they  may  glitter,  your  carbines  go  bang, 

But  if  you  want  hangin',  it's  yourselves  you  must  hang, 


138  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

For  to-night  he'll  be  sleepin'  in  Aherlow  glen, 

And  the  divil's  in  the  dice  if  you  catch  him  again. 

The  soldiers  ran  this  way,  the  hangman  ran  that, 

And  Father  Malone  lost  his  new  Sunday  hat ; 

And  the  sheriffs  were  both  of  them  punished  severely, 

And  fined  like  the  divil  because  Jim  done  them  fairly." 

The  ballad  was  written  in  a  very  few  days,  in 
the  year  1840,  and  sent  to  me  day  by  day  by  my 
brother  as  he  wrote  it  to  Dundalk,  where  I  was  then 
staying.  I  quickly  learned  it  by  heart,  and  now  and 
then  recited  it.  The  scraps  of  paper  on  which  it 
was  written  were  lost,  and  years  after,  when  my 
brother  wished  for  a  copy,  1  had  to  write  it  out 
from  memory  for  him.  One  other  copy  I  wrote  out 
in  the  same  way  and  gave  to  Samuel  Lover  when 
he  was  starting  on  his  tour  through  the  United 
States,  where,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  following  letter, 
it  was  received  with  much  applause :  — 

"  Astor  House,  New  York,  U.S.  America, 

"  September  30,  1846. 
"  MY  DEAR  LE  FANU, 

"  In  reading  over  your  brother's  poem  while  I  crossed  the 
Atlantic,  I  became  more  and  more  impressed  with  its  great 
beauty  and  dramatic  effect ;  so  much  so  that  I  determined  to 
test  its  effect  in  public,  and  have  done  so  here,  on  my  first 
appearance,  with  the  greatest  success.  Now  I  have  no  doubt 
there  will  be  great  praises  of  the  poem,  and  people  will  suppose 
most  likely  that  the  composition  is  mine,  and,  as  you  know  (I 
take  it  for  granted)  that  I  would  not  wish  to  wear  a  borrowed 
feather,  I  should  be  glad  to  give  your  brother's  name  as  author, 


A    GOOD   GUESS  139 

should  he  not  object  to  have  it  known  ;  but  as  his  writings  are 
often  of  so  different  a  tone,  I  would  not  speak  without  permis- 
sion to  do  so.  It  is  true  that  in  my  programme  my  name  is 
attached  to  the  other  pieces,  and  no  name  appended  to  the 
recitation ;  so  far  you  will  see  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  avoid 
'appropriating,'  the  spirit  of  which  I  might  have  caught  here  with 
Irish  aptitude ;  but  I  would  like  to  have  the  means  of  telling  all 
whom  it  may  concern  the  name  of  the  author  to  whose  head 
and  heart  it  does  so  much  honour.  Pray,  my  dear  Le  Fanu, 
inquire  and  answer  me  here  by  next  packet,  or  as  soon  as 
convenient.  My  success  here  has  been  quite  triumphant. 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

"  SAMUEL,  LOVER." 

Notwithstanding  his  disclaimer  of  authorship, 
I  afterwards,  more  than  once,  heard  the  poem 
attributed  to  Lover.  He  did,  indeed,  add  a  few 
lines,  by  no  means  an  improvement  to  it,  in  which 
he  makes  Shamus  emigrate  to  America,  where  he 
sets  up  a  public-house,  and  writes  home  to  his 
mother  to  invite  her  to  come  out  and  live  with  him 
in  his  happy  home.  I  suppose  he  thought  that  this 
would  suit  the  taste  of  the  Irish- Americans. 

Many  years  after  this,  when  I  had  recited  the 
poem  at  the  house  of  my  friend,  Sir  William 
Siirling  Maxwell,  he  said,  "  I  was  afraid  poor 
Shamus  would  be  hanged."  "  I  didn't  think  so  for 
a  moment,"  said  Lord  Dufferin.  "Why?"  said  Sir 
William.  "Possibly,"  said  Lord  Dufferin,  "it  may 
have  been  because  I  have  heard  William  Le  Fanu 
recite  it  once  or  twice  before." 


140  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

There  are  a  few  words  and  phrases  in  "  Shamus 
O'Brien  "  which  some  of  my  readers  may  not  under- 
stand. I  give  them  here  with  their  meaning, 

"Just  after  the  war."  The  peasants  always  call  the  rebellion 
of  1798  "  the  War." 

"  On  his  keeping,"  in  hiding  from  the  police  or  soldiers. 

"  The  illigantest  hurler."  "  Hurling  "  (or  "  hurley,"  as  it  is 
now  called)  was  formerly  the  chief  game  in  Ireland. 

"  Gossoon,"  or  "  gorsoon,"  a  young  lad. 

.  "  Pattern,"  a  gathering  for  religious  purposes  or  for  cures  at 
a  holy  well,  or  some  other  place,  dedicated  to  soipe  patron  saint. 
The  word  is  a  corruption  of  "  patron." 


AN  EXCITED  DUELLIST  141 


CHAPTER  X 

A  determined  duel  —  I  act  the  peasant,  and  am  selected  for  the 
police  force  —  Death  of  my  sister  —  Sketch  of  my  brother's 
life  —  Dan  O'Connell's  "  Illustrious  Kinsman"  —  A  murderous 
Grand  Jury  —  A  sad  reflection. 

IT  was  just  about  the  year  1838  that  a  duel  —  one 
of  the  last,  if  not  the  last,  in  this  country  —  was 
fought,  of  which  a  Mr.  Ireland,  then  at  the  Irish 
Bar,  gave  me  the  following  account :  — 

The  cause  of  the  quarrel  was  some  joke  which  a 
Mr.  O'Hara  had  made  at  the  expense  of  a  Mr.  Robert 
Napoleon  Finn,  who  at  once  challenged  him  to 
mortal  combat.  O'Hara,  like  a  brave  Galway  man 
as  he  was,  refused  to  make  the  slightest  apology, 
and  preliminaries  were  quickly  settled  by  the 
seconds.  It  was  arranged  that  the  meeting  should 
take  place  at  five  a.m.  next  morning,  on  the  sands  at 
the  North  Bull,  a  lonely  place  at  the  seaside,  about 
three  miles  from  Dublin.  Ireland,  who  was  a  friend 
of  both  the  principals,  was  invited  to  accompany  the 
party  as  amicus  curice.  Next  morning,  when  they 
arrived  on  the  ground,  they  took  off  their  great 
coats,  and  laid  them  in  a  pile  on  the  sand,  and  on 
them  Ireland  took  his  seat. 


142  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

It  was  arranged  that  one  of  the  seconds,  who 
had  had  some  little  previous  experience  in  affairs 
of  honour,  should  give  the  signal  for  the  com- 
batants to  fire.  When  they  were  in  their  places, 
twelve  paces  apart,  this  second,  standing  between 
them,  proceeded  to  give  them  instructions  as  to  how 
the  fight  was  to  be  conducted.  "  The  only  signal 
will  be,"  he  said,  "  the  words,  '  Heady  —  fire.'  v  At 
the  word  "  fire,"  Finn,  in  his  nervous  excitement, 
raised  his  pistol,  pointing  it  towards  the  second. 
"  Be  quiet,  will  you  ?  "  said  he.  "  Do  you  want  to 
shoot  me  ?  "  Having  retired  a  few  paces  to  be  out 
of  danger,  he  went  on  to  say,  "  Neither  of  you  is 
to  attempt  to  raise  your  pistol  till  I  give  the  word 
'  ready,'  nor  to  attempt  to  shoot  till  I  give  the  word 
(  fire.'  r  At  the  word  "  fire  "  Finn  again  lost  his 
head,  pulled  the  trigger  of  his  pistol,  which  was 
pointed  downwards,  and  lodged  the  bullet  in  the 
calf  of  his  own  leg.  O'Hara,  thinking  that  Finn 
had  taken  a  shot  at  him,  immediately  took  aim  at 
him.  while  Finn  hopped  off  as  fast  as  his  wounded 
leg  would  let  him,  crying  out,  "  For  God's  sake, 
don't  fire  ;  it  was  all  a  mistake  !  "  But  O'llara  did 
fire,  and  his  bullet  struck  the  ground  close  to  Finn, 
and  sent  the  sand  flying  over  Ireland  and  the  coats. 
At  that  moment  four  constables  appeared  on  the 
ground  with  warrants  for  the  arrest  of  the  whole 
party,  who  were  quickly  captured,  placed  in  the 


A  AT  EXCITED  DUELLIST  143 

carriages  in  which  they  had  come,  and  driven  back 
to  Dublin,  Finn's  leg  the  while  dangling  out  of  the 
carriage  window  to  keep  it  cool.  The  affair  caused 
much  amusement  in  Dublin,  and  it  was  said,  I  think, 
by  Pat  Costello,  that  "  Finn  had  gone  to  the  Bull, 
got  cow'd,  and  shot  the  calf." 

After  1839  I  was  comparatively  little  at  Abing- 
ton.  I  had  in  that  year  become  one  of  the  pupils  of 
Sir  John  MacNeill,  the  well-known  civil  engineer. 
About  a  year  after  I  had  joined  his  staff  I  had  gone 
to  a  fancy  ball  in  the  south  of  Ireland  as  an  Irish 
peasant  —  frieze  coat,  corduroy  knee-breeches,  yellow 
waistcoat,  grey  stockings,  and  brogues  ;  in  my  fist 
a  good  blackthorn,  and  on  my  head  a  wig,  with  the 
hair  cropped  quite  close,  except  the  national  glib,  or 
forelock,  then  the  fashion  amongst  the  southern 
peasantry.  When  I  came  back  to  Dublin,  I  went  to 
MacXeill's  office  dressed  in  the  same  way,  and  so 
perfect  was  the  disguise  that  I  completely  took  him 
in,  as  well  as  my  fellow  pupils.  I  told  them  I  had 
come  all  the  way  from  Clomnel  to  look  for  work, 
and  couldn't  find  any,  and  wanted  to  get  home 
again,  but  hadn't  the  means  ;  and  then  and  there 
they  made  a  subscription  to  enable  me  to  get  back 
to  my  native  Tipperary. 

Amongst  the  pupils  was  Hemans,  son  of  Mrs. 
Ilemans  the  poetess,  afterwards  highly  distinguished 
in  his  profession.  He  then  lived  in  Dublin  Castle, 


144  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

at  the  official  residence  of  his  uncle,  Colonel  Browne, 
Chief  Commissioner  of  Police,  with  whom  I  often 
dined  and  spent  my  evenings.  Hemans  was  so 
much  pleased  with  the  trick  I  had  played  that  he 
insisted  on  my  going  to  the  Castle,  disguised  in  the 
same  way,  to  apply  to  his  uncle  for  an  appointment 
as  constable  in  the  Dublin  Metropolitan  Police.  So 
I  wrote  a  letter  to  Colonel  Browne  in  my  own 
name,  saying  that  the  bearer,  Pat  Ryan,  was  a 
most  respectable  young  man,  one  of  my  father's 
parishioners,  who  was  very  anxious  to  be  a  police- 
man, and  that  I  should  be  very  much  obliged  if  he 
could  appoint  him.  With  this  letter  in  my  pocket, 
I  took  a  covered  car  (there  were  no  cabs  in  Dublin 
then),  and  drove  to  the  police  office  in  the  Castle. 
I  told  the  driver  to  wait  for  me,  and  was  ushered  by 
a  policeman  into  a  large  hall,  where  were  assembled 
several  candidates  for  admission  into  the  force,  and 
also  some  constables.  On  entering  I  looked  about, 
and  said  — 

"Gentlemen,  which  of  yez  is  Colonel  Browne,  if 
ye  plaze  ? " 

A  policeman  came  up  to  me,  and  said,  "  Colonel 
Browne  is  not  in  the  room.  What  is  it  you  want  ? " 

"Well,  sir,"  said  I,  "it's  a  bit  of  a  writin'  I  have 
that  Mr.  Le  Fanu  gave  me  for  the  Colonel." 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  said  he,  "and  I'll  give  it  to  him." 

"  Not  by  no  manner  of  means,"  said  I ;  "  for  Mr. 


A   CANDIDATE  FOR   THE  POLICE  145 

Le  Fanu  towld  me  not  to  give  it  to  any  one,  only 
into  the  Colonel's  own  hands ;  and,  begorra,  I'd  be 
afeared  to  give  it  to  any  one  else,  so  I  must  see  him 
myself." 

The  policeman  replied,  "  If  you  don't  give  me  the 
letter  you  won't  see  him  at.  all.  Don't  be  afraid; 
I'll  give  it  to  him  safe  enough." 

"  Under  them  circumstances,  sir,"  said  I,  "  I'll 
trust  you  with  it ;  but,  my  good  man,  you  must  give 
it  to  the  Colonel  at  once,  for  Mr.  Le  Fanu  will  be 
displeased  if  I'm  kept  waitin'." 

I  was,  however,  kept  a  long  time,  during  which 
I  had  a  good  deal  of  talk  with  other  candidates. 
Amongst  them  was  a  very  dapper  little  fellow, 
neatly  dressed,  but  plainly  quite  too  small  and  slight 
for  the  police.  He  looked  rather  contemptuously  at 
my  get-up,  and  said  — 

"Now,  do  you  think  you  have  much  chance  of 
being  appointed  ? " 

"Well,  my  tight  fellow,"  said  I,  "if  we  are  to 
judge  by  personal  appearance  and  shapes,  I  think  I 
have  as  good  a  chance  as  you,  any  way." 

He  retired,  and  a  friendly  constable  came  up  to 
me,  and  said,  "What  part  of  the  country  do  you 
come  from  ? " 

"  I'm  from  Tipperary,"  said  I. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  he ;  "  I  partly  guessed  I 
knew  the  frieze.  And  in  what  part  of  Tipperarv  do 
you  live  ? " 


146  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  Not  very  far  from  Newport,''  said  I. 

"  Oh,  then,"  said  he,  "  I  suppose  you  know  the 
Doodeys  ? " 

"  Of  coorse  I  do,"  said  I.  "  Why  wouldn't  I  know 
them  ? "  (I  had  never  heard  of  them.) 

"  And  how  is  old  Mick  Doodey  2 "  said  he. 

"  He's  illigant,"  said  I. 

"  And  how  is  little  Tom  ? "  he  asked. 

"  He's  illigant  too,"  said  I,  "  only  in  regard  of  a 
sort  of  a  swelling  he  has  in  his  jaw." 

"  He  was  always  subject  to  that,"  said  he  ;  then, 
looking  at  my  hair,  which  was  too  long,  and  was 
coming  out  below  the  wig  at  the  back  of  my  head, 
he  said,  "  What  makes  your  hair  so  long  at  the 
back?" 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  "  when  my  hair  Avas  shaved 
off  last  Candlemas,  when  I  had  the  sickness,  that  the 
front  and  the  back  of  it  grew  longer  since  than  the 
other  parts." 

"Come  in  with  me  for  a  minute,"  said  he,  "and 
I'll  crop  it  off  for  you  in  the  way  you'll  look  neat 
and  tidy  when  you'r  called  up." 

"  I  thank  you  kindly,"  said  I,  "  but  I'll  not  mind 
it  just  now ;  it  will  be  time  enough  to  crop  it  if  I'm 
appointed." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  said  he,  "hould  up  your  head, 
and  don't  look  any  way  a  feared  or  daunted  like 
when  you  go  up  before  the  Colonel." 


A  FRIENDLY  POLICEMAN  147 

Our  conversation  was  then  interrupted,  as  I  was 
ordered  upstairs  to  appear  before  the  Colonel.  As  I 
entered  his  room  I  took  off  my  hat  and  my  brogues, 
and  laid  them  with  my  blackthorn  on  the  floor 
beside  me.  There  was  my  old  friend  seated  at  his 
desk  in  all  the  dignity  of  office.  After  he  had  taken 
a  good  long  look  at  me,  he  said  — 

"  It  was  you,  I  think,  who  brought  me  this  letter 
from  Mr.  Le  Fanu  ? " 

"  It  was,  my  lord." 

"  You  want  to  go  into  the  police  ? " 

"  That's  my  ambition,  your  raverence." 

"  Can  you  read  and  write  ? " 

"Why  not,  your  worship?  Sure  I  got  a  nate 
edication." 

"  Well,  read  that,"  said  he,  handing  me  a  letter, 
which  I  begun  to  read  as  follows :  — "  Sir,  I  am 
anxious  to  become  a  member  of  the  M-E  me, 
T-R-O  tro,  P-O  po —  Ah,  begorra,  my  lord,"  said 
I,  "  that  long  word  bates  me !  " 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  '  metropolitan.' 
Go  on." 

I  got  through  the  rest  of  the  letter  swimmingly. 

"  Take  him  down  now,"  said  he,  "  and  have  him 
measured,  and  then  bring  him  back  here." 

I  was  taken  down  and  put  under  the  measuring 
instrument,  where  I  kept  bobbing  up  my  head  to 
make  myself  taller. 


148  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  Keep  quiet,  will  you,"  said  the  sergeant,  putting 
his  hand  on  my  head.  "  You  have  a  wig  on  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  said  I. 

"  Remove  it  at  once,"  said  he. 

"  No,  nor  the  dickens  a  taste,"  said  I.  "  Didn't  ye 
hear  the  Colonel  tellin'  me  not  to  dar  to  take  off  that 
wig  be  reason  of  a  cowld  I  have  in  my  head  ? " 

So  I  was  measured  with  my  wig  on,  due  allow- 
ances being,  no  doubt,  made  for  it,  and  was  marched 
up  to  the  Colonel  again. 

"  Exactly  six  foot,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant. 

The  Colonel  then  said  to  me,  "  You  are  to  attend 
here  on  Friday  morning  next,  at  ten  o'clock,  to  be 
examined  by  the  doctor;  and  you  may  tell  Mr. 
Le  Fanu  that  if  you  pass  the  doctor  I  intend  to  put 
you  into  the  B  division." 

"  Long  may  your  honour  live ! "  said  I ;  then, 
handing  him  one  of  my  visiting  cards,  I  added, 
"  Mr.  Le  Fanu  bid  me  give  you  that." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Le  Fanu  ? "  said  he. 

"  Here,  your  raverence,"  said  I. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked  me. 

"Ah,  then,  Colonel  dear,  you  ould  villain,  look 
at  me  now.  Is  it  because  I'm  in  these  plain  clothes 
you  purtind  not  to  know  me? " 

Up  he  jumped,  put  his  arm  in  mine,  and  for 
some  minutes  laughed  so  heartily  that  he  could  not 
say  a  word,  while  the  sergeant  and  the  orderly  stood 


MY  Sf STERNS  DEATH  149 

near  the  door,  in  amazement,  thinking  we  had  both 
gone  off  our  heads.  As  soon  as  he  could  speak  he 
said,  "Come  to  dine  at  half-past  seven,  and  we'll 
talk  about  the  B  division." 

I  ran  downstairs  to  the  hall,  where  candidates 
came  about  me,  asking,  "  Are  you  appointed  ? " 

"  Appointed,  ye  blackguards  of  the  world !  "  said 
I.  "  Appointed,  is  it !  I'm  not  only  appointed,  but, 
begorra,  I'm  to  dine  with  the  Colonel." 

I  then  ran  out,  got  into  my  car,  and  drove  off.  I 
did  not  come  back  on  Friday  to  the  doctor;  but 
many  years  afterwards  I  got  a  good  appointment 
on  the  Great  Southern  Railway  for  Barrett,  the 
constable  who  had  been  so  good  to  me. 

In  the  spring  of  18-il  a  great  grief  befell  us  in 
the  death  of  our  only  sister,  the  constant  and  loved 
companion  of  our  young  days.  Her  cleverness,  her 
sweet  temper,  and,  above  all,  her  wondrous  goodness, 
had  endeared  her,  not  to  us  alone,  but  to  all  who 
knew  her.  Without  a  particle  of  that  cant  or  one 
of  those  shibboleths  which  spoil  the  conversation 
and  mar  the  usefulness  of  so  many,  she  influenced 
for  good  all  who  came  in  contact  with  her.  She 
was  the  idol  of  the  poor  in  our  neighbourhood. 
There  are  still  old  people  at  Abington  who  speak  of 
her  as  "the  good  Miss  Catherine,"  and  tell  of  all 
the  good  she  did. 

She  had  been  early  a  contributor  to  the  Dublin 


ISO  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

University  Magazine,  in  which  she  wrote  most 
pleasantly,  but  fell  into  ill-health  and  died  when  she 
was  twenty-seven.  She  was  her  father's  darling. 
After  her  death  he  never  was  the  same,  and  did  not 
very  long  survive  her.  We  were  summoned  from 
Dublin  to  her  death-bed.  Great  was  her  joy  at 
seeing  us  and  having  us  with  her.  She  had  feared 
that  we  would  not  arrive  in  time  to  see  her. 

It  was  in  this  same  year,  18-il,  that  my  brother 
took  his  B.A.  degree  in  the  University,  and  soon 
afterwards  was  called  to  the  Irish  Bar.  But  he 
almost  immediately  became  connected  with  the  Press, 
and  proprietor  and  editor  of  the  Warder,  a  paper 
of  note  in  Ireland;  and  shortly  afterwards  he  pur- 
chased another  paper,  which  he  also  edited.  This 
was  injurious  to  his  future  prospects,  as  it  prevented 
his  applying  himself  to  a  profession,  for  which  his 
eloquence  and  ready  wit  fitted  him,  and  of  which 
his  contemporaries  had  hoped  to  see  him  a  distin- 
guished member.  Later  on  he  purchased,  and  for 
some  time  edited,  the  Dublin  University  Magazine. 
It  was  in  that  periodical  he  published  the  first  of 
Rhoda  Broughton's  novels.  She  was  first  cousin  to 
my  brother's  wife,  Susan  Bennett,  the  charming 
daughter  of  the  late  George  Bennett,  Q.C.,  whom  he 
married  in  the  year  1844. 

In  1845  the  first  and  one  of  his  best  novels,  "The 
Cock  and  Anchor,  a  Chronicle  of  old  Dublin  City," 


MY  BROTHER'S  NOVELS  15 ! 

appeared  ;  and  very  soon  his  second,  "  The  Fortunes 
of  Turloch  O'Brien."  They  were  published  in 
Dublin,  and  were  unsuccessful.  I  know  not  why, 
for  they  were  quite  equal  to  some  of  his  most  success- 
ful novels. 

Owing  to  their  want  of  success,  and  to  the 
amount  of  time  he  was  obliged  to  devote  to  the 
Press,  he  did  not  for  eighteen  years  again  take  up 
his  pen  as  a  novelist.  It  was  not  until  1863  that 
his  next  story,  "The  House  by  the  Churchyard," 
appeared.  It  was  soon  followed  by  "  Uncle  Silas," 
the  best  known  of  his  novels,  and  afterwards  by 
five  others. 

His  wife,  to  whom  he  was  devotedly  attached, 
died  in  1858,  and  from  this  time  he  entirely  forsook 
general  society,  and  was  seldom  seen  except  by 
his  near  relations  and  a  few  familiar  friends.  In 
the  year  1871,  almost  immediately  after  the  publi- 
cation of  his  last  novel,  "Willing  to  Die,"  he 
breathed  his  last  in  his  house  in  Merrion  Square. 
One  who  knew  him  long  and  well  thus  speaks  of 
him  in  a  short  memoir  which  appeared,  in  the 
University  Magazine,  soon  after  his  death :  "  He 
was  a  man  who  thought  deeply,  especially  on  re- 
ligious subjects.  To  those  who  knew  him  he  was 
very  dear.  They  admired  him  for  his  learning,  his 
sparkling  wit,  and  pleasant  conversation,  and  loved 
him  for  his  manly  virtues,  for  his  noble  and  generous 


152  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

qualities,  his  gentleness,  and  his  loving,  affectionate 
nature." 

All  who  knew  my  brother  will  feel  the  truth  of 
these  few  simple  words. 

As  MacNeill  had  an  office  in  London,  as  well  as 
one  in  Dublin,  I  had  to  be  a  good  deal  there  during 
my  pupilage,  and  for  twenty  years  afterwards  I 
spent  a  good  part  of  every  spring  and  early  summer 
there  —  first  as  MacNeill's  assistant,  and  subsequently 
to  attend  before  Parliamentary  committees  to  give 
evidence  on  bills  for  railways  and  other  works,  of 
which  I  was  engineer. 

In  those  days,  amongst  Irishmen  resident  in 
London,  was  a  well-known  character,  called  amongst 
his  friends  "Lord  Kilmallock,"  or,  more  generally, 
"  Kilmallock,"  owing  to  his  having  been  born  in 
the  little  town  of  that  name  in  the  county  of 
Limerick,  whence  he  emigrated  to  the  big  city. 
His  real  name  was  O'Connell.  Though  no  relation 
of  the  famous  Dan  O'Connell,  he  wished  to  be 
thought  so,  and  on  every  occasion  took  up  the 
cudgels  for  his  "  illustrious  kinsman,"  as  he  always 
called  him.  Of  him  the  "Liberator's"  nephew, 
Morgan  John  O'Connell,  the  M.P.  (for  Kerry,  I 
think),  told  me  many  anecdotes,  amongst  them  the 
following :  — 

O'Connell,  in  one  of  his  violent  speeches,  told  his 
audience  that  Disraeli  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  the 


"LORD  KILMALLOCK"  153 

impenitent  thief.  Disraeli  at  once  challenged  him ; 
but  O'Connell  refused  to  meet  him,  having  registered 
a  vow  that  he  would  never  fight  again,  owing  to  his 
having  killed  Mr.  D'Esterre  in  a  duel  in  the  early 
days  of  his  career.  Kilmallock  considered  it  his 
duty  at  once  to  take  up  the  quarrel,  and  wrote  to 
Disraeli  to  the  following  effect :  — 

"  SIR, — I  understand  that  you  have  sent  a  challenge  to  my 
illustrious  kinsman,  the  great  Daniel  O'Connell,  well  knowing 
that  owing  to  a  solemn  vow  he  could  not  meet  you ;  but  I,  sir, 
as  his  relative,  and  endorsing  every  word  he  said  of  you,  am 
prepared  to  give  you  that  satisfaction  which  one  gentleman 
owes  to  another,  and  am  ready  to  meet  you  at  any  time  and 
place  you  name  —  here,  in  France,  in  Germany,  or  even  at  the 
foot  of  that  mount  where  your  impenitent  ancestor  suffered  for 
his  crimes." 

About  the  same  time  an  English  member  of  Par- 
liament, Mr.  Chambers,  brought  forward  every 
Session  a  motion  in  the  House  of  Commons,  with  a 
view  of  having  a  Government  inspection  of  nun- 
neries. A  friend  called  on  Kilmallock  the  morning 
after  a  debate  on  one  of  these  motions.  He  found 
him  very  busy  writing. 

"  What  are  you  writing  about,  Kilmallock  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  I'm  writing  a  letter  to  the  editor  of  the  Times 
about  that  scoundrel  Chambers.  I'll  read  you  as 
much  as  I  have  written  :  — 


154  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  To  the  Editor  of  the  Times. 

"  SIR,  —  I  see  by  your  paper  of  this  date  that  last  night  in 
the  House  of  Commons  Mr.  Chambers  brought  forward  his 
usual  motion  in  favour  of  Government  inspection  of  Catholic 
nunneries.  Instead  of  attacking  those  amiable,  pious,  virtuous 
ladies,  the  Catholic  nuns,  let  this  Mr.  Chambers  look  nearer 
home ;  let  him  look  at  his  own  old  card-playing,  scandal-mon- 
gering,  dram-drinking  mother  —  " 

"  But,"  interrupted  his  friend,  "  take  care  that 
that  is  not  libellous.  Are  you  quite  sure  that  she  is 
so  bad  ? " 

"  "What  would  I  know  about  the  old  divil  ? "  said 
Kilmallock.  "  I  never  heard  of  her  in  my  life.  But 
if  he  has  a  particle  of  manly  feeling  in  his  composi- 
tion it  will  cut  him  to  the  quick." 

Morgan  John  O'Connell,  in  introducing  Kilmal- 
lock to  a  friend,  said,  "Allow  me  to  introduce  to 
you  my  namesake,  Mr.  O'Connell."  "  Your  illus- 
trious uncle,"  Kilmallock  said,  "  would  have  said 
'  my  kinsman.' ':  "  That  is  his  vanity,"  said  Morgan 
John. 

It  was  Kilmallock,  I  think,  who  told  me  of  a 
Grand  Jury  case  which  occurred  many  years  before 
in  his  own  county  of  Kerry. 

At  the  spring  assizes  at  Tralee  the  Grand  Jury, 
who  had  been  considering  a  murder  case,  came  from 
their  room  into  court  to  consult  the  judge.  The 
foreman  said,  "  My  lord,  how  can  we  find  a  bill  for 
wilful  murder  when  the  murdered  man  himself  is 


MURDER   OR  MANSLAUGHTER?  155 

giving  evidence  before  us  '( "  "  Quite  impossible, 
gentlemen,"  said  the  judge.  ''  But,  my  lord,"  said 
one  of  the  jury,  "as  the  man  was  nearly  killed, 
couldn't  we  find  a  bill  for  manslaughter? "  "  Equally 
impossible,  gentlemen,"  said  the  judge. 

The  way  in  which  the  matter  arose  was  this :  In 
the  winter  before,  a  farmer  had  been  attacked  and 
beaten  almost  to  death  about  fifteen  miles  from 
Tralee.  lie  was  found  on  the  road  insensible,  and 
carried  into  a  cabin.  The  inmates  did  not  know 
whether  he  was  alive  or  dead,  so  to  be  right  in 
either  case  they  sent  to  Tralee  for  the  doctor  and 
the  coroner,  who  both  arrived  in  the  afternoon  in  a 
storm  of  sleet  and  snow.  On  examining  the  injured 
man  the  doctor  said  he  could  not  possibly  recover  or 
even  live  through  the  night.  The  coroner  asked  him 
whether  it  was  absolutely  certain  that  he  would  die 
before  morning.  The  doctor  replied,  "Absolutely 
certain."  "  In  that  case,"  said  the  coroner,  "  I  may 
as  well  hold  my  inquest  on  him,  for  he  is  dead  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  and  what  would  be  the  use  of 
my  going  back  to  Tralee  only  to  come  out  here 
again  to-morrow  in  this  awful  weather '( "  So  a  jury 
was  brought  together,  who  quickly  found  a  verdict 
of  "  Wilful  murder  against  some  person  or  persons 
unknown."  But  in  spite  of  doctor  and  coroner  the 
man  recovered,  and  thus  was  able  to  appear  before 
the  Grand  Jury. 


156  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Another  of  Kilmallock's  stories  was  of  a  young 
Irishman  in  mourning,  on  board  one  of  the  river 
boats,  who,  as  it  passed  Greenwich,  was  seen  to 
burst  into  tears  and  cover  his  face  with  his  hand- 
kerchief. On  being  asked  what  was  the  cause  of  his 
emotion,  "  Look  at  that  building,"  said  he,  pointing 
to  Greenwich  Hospital  —  "look  at  it!  It  reminds 
me  of  my  dear  father's  stables  in  Connemara ! " 


THE  POWER   OF  THE  PEOPLE  157 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  power  of  the  people  —  Sergeant  Murphy ;  his  London  man- 
ners—  Pat  Costello's  humour  —  I  meet  Thackeray  —  Paddy 
Blake's  echo  —  Dan  O'Connell's  imagination  —  Sir  James 
O'Connell's  anecdotes  —  He  is  prayed  for  by  his  herd. 

AT  one  of  Dan  O'Connell's  elections,  during  the 
Repeal  agitation,  where  the  speaking  was  pretty 
stormy,  one  of  the  speakers,  a  Mr.  MacSheehey, 
exclaimed  in  stentorian  tones,  "  We'll  hurl  the  Brit- 
ish lion  from  his  pedestal ! "  A  voice  from  the 
crowd  was  heard  to  cry,  "Mr.  MacSheehey!  Mr. 
MacSheehey !  if  I  was  you  I'd  let  that  baste  alone, 
or  maybe  you'll  find  his  claws  in  your  tail  some  fine 
morning." 

This  reminds  me  of  a  friend  of  mine,  who  at  one 
time  thought  of  contesting  the  borough  of  Tralee, 
his  native  town.  In  his  maiden  speech  he  used  the 
words,  "  The  power  of  the  people,  once  roused,  can 
hurl  the  mightiest  potentate  from  his  throne!" 
Next  morning,  in  reading  the  report  of  his  speech  in 
the  Tralee  Chronicle,  he  found  to  his  horror  he  was 
made  to  say,  "  The  power  of  the  people,  once  roused, 
can  hurl  the  mightiest  Hottentot  from  his  throne." 


158  SEVENTY   YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  the  fun  that  was  made  of 
him  about  his  speech  or  from  some  other  cause  I 
cannot  say,  but  he  never  spoke  in  public  again. 

A  misprint  of  something  of  the  same  kind  oc- 
curred in  the  report  of  a  speech  of  O'ConnelFs,  in 
which  he  was  made  to  say  that  "  He  would  always 
stand  up  for  religious  liberty  and  for  the  right  of 
every  man  to  horsewhip  his  God  after  the  dictates 
of  his  conscience."  The  report  had  changed  "  wor- 
ship "  into  "  horsewhip."  Strange  to  say,  this  mis- 
print appeared  in  the  paper  which,  at  the  time,  was 
the  strongest  supporter  of  O'Connell. 

Another  Irishman  well  known  in  London  then 
was  Sergeant  Murphy,  generally  known  as  "  Frank 
Murphy."  He  was  member  of  Parliament  for  Cork, 
his  native  city,  and  distinguished  at  the  Bar  and  in 
the  House  of  Commons.  Pleasant  and  witty  he  was, 
considerably  bumptious  too.  When  he  visited  Cork 
during  vacation,  his  great  delight  was  to  astonish 
the  natives  by  his  London  ways  and  manners.  At 
a  large  dinner-party  at  the  house  of  an  old  gentle- 
man, a  relative  and  namesake  of  his,  where  many 
Murphys  were  assembled,  immediately  after  dinner 
he  lit  a  cigar  and  began  to  smoke,  a  custom  unheard 
of  in  Ireland  then.  There  was  much  astonishment 
amongst  the  guests.  His  old  host,  however,  was 
equal  to  the  occasion,  and  at  once  said,  "  Indeed, 
then,  it  is  kind  for  you,  Frank,  for  your  old  grand- 


SERGEANT  MURPHY  159 

mother  always  took  a  shaugh  of  the  pipe  after  the 
pratees." 

In  Murphy's  time,  Spooner  and  Newdegate  were 
the  two  ultra-Protestant  Tories  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  Of  these  he  said,  "  The  degrees  of  com- 
parison of  the  word  '  spoon '  are  '  Spoon,'  '  Spooner,' 
'  Newdegate.' " 

He  was  a  friend  of  "Warren,  author  of  "  Ten 
Thousand  a  Year,"  a  most  conceited  man.  When 
this  book  was  coming  out  in  numbers  in,  I  think, 
Frazer's  Magazine,  the  two  met  at  a  large  dinner- 
party in  London,  and,  though  the  story  was  coming 
out  anonymously,  Murphy  and  most  of  the  other 
guests  knew  perfectly  well  it  was  Warren's.  After 
dinner,  when  the  conversation  was  general,  Warren, 
who  was  always  fishing  for  compliments,  said  to 
Murphy  across  the  table  — 

"Have  you  read  that  thing  that  is  coming  out 
in  Fmzer  f  " 

"What  thing?  "  said  Murphy. 

"  '  Ten  Thousand  a  Year,'  "  said  Warren. 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  it,"  he  answered. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  asked  Warren. 

"  Hardly  fair  to  ask  me,"  said  Murphy,  "  for  1 
wrote  it." 

I  have  heard  a  story  told  of  Murphy,  but  which 
really  happened  to  quite  another  man,  a  resident 
in  Kerry,  who  dearlv  loved  a  lord,  and  lost  no 


160  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

opportunity  of  talking  of  his  great  acquaintances. 
At  a  dinner-party  where  there  were  several  Roman 
Catholics,  during  a  conversation  on  the  subject  of 
fasting,  this  gentleman  said,  "It  is  very  strange 
how  little  Catholics  in  the  higher  ranks  mind  the 
fast  days.  I  was  dining  at  the  Duke  of  Norfolk's 
on  a  fast  day,  three  weeks'  ago,  and  there  wasn't 
a  bit  of  fish  at  dinner."  "  I  suppose,"  said  Pat 
Costello,  "  they  had  eaten  it  all  in  the  dining-room  ? " 

This  Pat  Costello  had  been  on  very  intimate 
terms  with  a  fellow  barrister,  O'Loughlin,  afterwards 
Sir  Michael  O'Loughlin  and  Master  of  the  Rolls  in 
Ireland.  As  "  Pat "  and  "  Michael "  they  were  wont 
to  address  each  other.  Soon  after  the  latter  was 
appointed  Master  of  the  Rolls,  he  met  Pat  and  said 
to  him,  "How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Costello."  "Mr. 
Costello ! "  said  Pat.  "  Bedad,  you'd  think  it  was 
I  that  was  Master  of  the  Rolls." 

A  friend  who  met  him  unexpectedly  said,  "  Are 
you  here,  Pat  ?  I  heard  you  had  gone  up  the  Rhine 
with  Billy  Stephens."  "  Up  the  Rhine  with  Billy 
Stephens !  "  said  Pat.  "  I  wouldn't  go  up  the  Dodder 
Avith  him."  The  Dodder  is  a  little  stream  passing 
through  the  suburbs  of  Dublin  into  the  Liffey. 

It  is  told  of  him  that,  on  a  Friday,  at  a  mail-coach 
dinner,  when  there  was  only  a  small  piece  of  salmon, 
all  of  which  the  only  other  Roman  Catholic  pas- 
senger was  taking  to  himself,  Pat  interposed,  and 


THACKERAY  161 

insisted  on  having  half  of  it,  saying,  "  Do  you  think, 
sir,  no  one  has  a  soul  to  be  saved  but  yourself '( " 

He  was  not  of  the  same  mind  as  the  Roman 
Catholic  gentleman  who,  when  asked  why  he  ate 
meat  on  Friday,  said  that  fish  always  disagreed  with 
him  and  gave  him  dyspepsia,  and  that  though  he 
had  a  Catholic  heart,  he  greatly  feared  he  had  a 
Protestant  stomach. 

On  one  of  my  visits  to  London,  I  found  that  my 
old  friend  Johnny  Jones,  a  most  amusing  fellow, 
formerly  one  of  Sir  J.  MacNeill's  assistants,  had  be- 
come famous  as  a  sculptor.  My  first  acquaintance 
with  Thackeray  was  through  him,  and  came  about  on 
this  wise.  Jones  came  one  night  into  my  hotel  and 
told  me  he  had  just  come  up  from  Greenwich,  where 
he,  Thackeray,  and  two  or  three  others  had  been 
dining  together. 

"  By-the-by,"  said  he,  "  don't  you  know  Thacke- 
ray?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  do  not,"  said  I. 

•'  Then,"  said  he,  "  come  and  dine  with  me  to-mor- 
row and  you'll  meet  him." 

"  Where  do  you  dine  '{ "  I  asked. 

"At  my  friend  Sevan's  in  Coleman  Street." 

"  But,"  I  answered,  "  I  do  not  know  Mr.  Bevan. 
I  never  even  heard  of  him." 

"That  doesn't  make  the  slightest  difference,"  said 
Johnny.  "  He's  the  best  fellow  in  the  world  — 


1 62  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

sings  like  a  nightingale  —  and  will  be  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  But,"  I  objected,  "  how  could  I  go  to  dine  at  the 
house  of  a  man  when  I  don't  know  him  ?  " 

Johnny  replied,  "  If  I  ask  you,  it's  exactly  the 
same  as  if  he  asked  you.  He  has  given  me  a  carte 
blanche  to  ask  any  one  I  choose ;  and  I  often  bring 
a  friend  to  dine  with  him.  If  you  don't  come  we'll 
be  only  five  to-morrow,  and  six  would  be  pleasanter, 
and  he  would  like  it  better.  I'll  tell  you  what  sort 
of  a  man  Bevan  is.  About  three  months  ago  he 
asked  me  to  stay  with  him  for  a  few  days.  I  am 
with  him  still ;  and  he  is  such  a  good  fellow  and 
such  a  pleasant  fellow,  I  do  not  think  I'll  ever  leave 
him." 

So  I  accepted  the  invitation,  and  on  my  arrival 
at  Coleman  Street  next  day,  found  Mr.  Bevan  all 
that  Johnny  had  described  him.  A  pleasant  little 
party  we  were;  Bevan  and  Johnny  at  head  and 
foot  of  the  table,  Hobhouse  and  Mozley  at  one 
side,  Thackeray  and  I  at  the  other,  and  with  songs 
and  stories  we  kept  it  up  well  into  the  small  hours. 

Thackeray  was  always  pleasant  when  I  afterwards 
met  him ;  but  so  pleasant  and  in  such  spirits  as  he 
was  that  night  I  never  saw  him.  I  happened  to 
mention  an  amusing  dissertation  which  I  had  heard 
that  morning  between  Lord  Redesdale,  Chairman  of 
Committees  of  the  Lords,  and  Venables,  then  one 


PADDY  B LAKERS  ECHO  163 

of  the  leading  parliamentary  agents.  I  asked 
Thackeray  whether  he  knew  Venables.  "I  ought 
to  know  him,"  said  he ;  "  it  was  he  who  broke  my 
nose." 

In  telling  an  Irish  story,  few  could  equal  Jones. 
He  sang  well,  too ;  but  in  Irish  songs,  gay  or 
plaintive,  another  Johnny  far  surpassed  him.  His 
was  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  touching  voices 
I  have  ever  heard.  He  was  Johnny,  eldest  son  of 
the  late,  and  brother  of  the  present  Sir  Thomas 
Deane,  the  distinguished  architect.  Several  years 
after  the  time  I  have  been  speaking  of,  these  two 
were  the  life  and  soul  of  a  large  party  who  spent 
a  few  days  at  Killarney  when  Lord  Carlisle,  then 
Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  came  down  to  open  the 
railway  there,  of  which  I  was  engineer.  Some  of 
the  party,  amongst  whom  were  Judge  Haliburton 
(Sam  Slick),  Shirley  Brooks,  Johnny  Jones,  and 
myself,  had  been  through  the  Gap  of  Dunloe  and 
came  down  the  lakes.  It  was  a  very  windy  day, 
so  windy  that  though  Spillane,  our  bugler,  played 
his  best  at  the  Eagle's  Nest  and  other  points,  no 
echo  could  we  get.  Again  he  tried  at  Glena;  but 
all  in  vain.  No  answer  came  to  the  bugle  sound; 
so  we  determined  to  try  whether  we  could  awake 
an  echo  by  shouting  all  together  at  the  top  of  our 
voices.  We  sang  out,  "  Ho,  ho,  Johnny  Jones ! " 
A  soft  and  gentle  echo  from  the  mountain  answered, 


1 64  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  Ho,  ho,  Johnny  Deane ! "  Surely,  thought  we, 
we  must  have  misheard.  We  called  again,  "  Ho, 
ho,  Johnny  Jones  ! "  More  clearly  than  before  the 
echo  said,  "  Ho,  ho,  Johnny  Deane  ! "  Again  and 
again  we  tried,  but  got  no  other  response.  "  Begorra," 
said  one  of  our  boatmen,  "often  as  I  heard  tell  of 
Paddy  Blake's  echo,  I  never  believed  in  it  till  now." 

Paddy  Blake's  echo  is  well  known  at  Killarney. 
When  you  call  out,  "  How  are  you,  Paddy  Blake  ? " 
Echo  answers,  "Well,  I  thank  you,  sir."  In  the 
evening  the  mystery  was  solved.  Johnny  Deane 
himself  was  the  echo.  He  and  some  others  of  our 
friends  had  climbed  Glena  and  heard  and  answered 
our  shouting  from  its  wooded  side. 

When  Lord  Carlisle  made  a  speech  on  the 
opening  of  the  railway,  there  stood  near  me  a 
reporter  of  one  of  the  Kerry  papers,  who  asked  me 
the  names  of  the  people  by  whom  his  Excellency  was 
attended.  Amongst  them  was  Walter  Creyke,  then 
in  deacon's  orders  and  chaplain  to  Lord  Carlisle. 
"Who  is  the  handsome  young  man  with  the  dark 
beard  ? "  said  my  neighbour.  "  Mr.  Creyke,"  said 
I,  "  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  chaplain."  "  Do  you  know 
his  Christian  name  ? "  he  said.  "  CORN,"  said  I. 
In  the  morning's  paper  he  duly  appeared  as  "  the 
Rev.  Corn  Creyke." 

It  was  then  I  first  met  James  O'Connell,  after- 
wards Sir  James,  father  of  Sir  Maurice  the  present 


DAN  O^CONNELL  165 

baronet,  and  brother  of  the  famous  Dan  O'Connell ; 
a  most  agreeable  man,  full  of  interesting  information 
and  memories.  Many  a  story  he  told  me  of  his 
famous  brother  Dan ;  amongst  them  the  following, 
which  shows  how  unscrupulous  O'Connell  could  be 
wliea  he  thought  occasion  required  it.  He  had 
brought  his  brother  either  to  the  Bar  of  the  House 
or  behind  the  woolsack  —  I  forget  which  —  to  hear  a 
debate  on  Irish  affairs  in  the  House  of  Lords.  A 
discussion  arose  on  some  petition  which  had  been 
presented  to  the  peers,  in  the  course  of  which  a 
Tory  peer  had  said,  "  What  are  we  to  think,  my 
lords,  of  such  a  petition  as  this,  the  first  signature  to 
which  is  that  of  Hamilton  Rowan,  an  attainted 
traitor  ? " 

Lord  Brougham,  seeing  O'Connell,  came  down  to 
him  and  said,  "  What  am  I  to  say  to  this  ? " 

"You  may  say,''  said  Dan,  "  that  Mr.  Hamilton 
Rowan  never  was  an  attainted  traitor.  It  is  true 
that  in  '98  he  left  Ireland  for  a  little  time  ;  but  on 
his  return  no  charge  was  brought  against  him. 
He  now  holds  a  high  position,  is  a  magistrate  of 
his  county,  and  has  twice  served  the  office  of  high 
sheriff." 

James  was  astounded,  and  as  Brougham  retired, 
caught  his  brother  by  the  arm,  saying,  "  Ah,  Dan, 
Dan,  I  do  not  think  he  is  a  magistrate,  or  ever  was 
high  sheriff." 


1 66  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  bostkoon ! "  said  Dan. 
"  "What  does  it  matter  whether  he  was  or  not  ?  If 
he  wasn't,  it  will  take  three  days  to  contradict 
it,  and  the  whole  business  will  be  forgotten  before 
that."  There  were  no  railways  or  telegraphs  in 
those  days. 

Sir  James  also  told  me  of  a  Mr.  Tomkins  Brew, 
a  well-known  and  very  popular  magistrate  in  the 
county  of  Clare,  who,  when  giving  evidence  before 
a  committee  of  the  House  of  Lords  on  crime  in 
Ireland,  was  asked  whether  he  knew  much  about 
the  Roman  Catholic  priesthood.  He  replied,  "  I  do 
not  think,  my  lords,  there  is  a  man  in  Ireland  that 
knows  more  about  them  than  I  do." 

"I  think  I  know  a  great  deal  about  them,  Mr. 
Brew,"  said  Lord  Roden. 

"  Ah !  my  lord,"  said  Brew,  "  did  you  ever  sleep 
between  a  parish  priest  and  his  coadjutor?" 

Another  of  his  stories  was  of  a  very  conceited 
upstart  young  fellow,  who,  just  after  he  had  got  a 
commission  in  the  Cork  Militia,  was  strutting  about 
as  proud  as  a  peacock  in  his  new  uniform.  He  met 
a  simple  country  lad,  known  as  "  Tom  the  fool."  "  I 
hardly  think  you  know  me,  Tom,"  said  he.  "  Bedad, 
I  do  know  you," said  Tom.  "I'd  know  your  skin  on 
a  bush ;  but  I  hardly  think  you  know  yourself, 
Masther  Bob." 

The   same  youth  had,  one  morning,  ordered  his 


"RIGHT  ABOUT  FACE"  167 

men  to  fall  in  for  parade ;  one  fellow  lagged  behind, 
and  was  very  slowly  coming  up  when  all  the  others 
were  in  position.  "What  are  you  dawdling  there 
for.  Sullivan,"  said  he ;  "  fall  in  at  once."  "  Begorra," 
answered  Sullivan,  "  Masther  Bob,  you're  in  such  a 
hurry  you'd  think  the  French  was  coming." 

He  told  me  also  of  the  characteristic  way  in 
which  an  officer  of  the  Ayrshire  Fencibles,  at  one 
time  quartered  in  the  south,  gave  the  order,  "  Right 
about  face"  to  some  recruits,  whose  left  legs  were 
marked  with  chalk,  as  was  the  custom  then,  to 
distinguish  them  from  the  right.  He  gave  the  word 
thus,  "  Ayrshire  Fencibles,  your  back  to  the  north, 
your  face  to  the  south,  chalked  leg  foremost  — 
MARCH  ! " 

Sir  James  O'Connell  was,  what  was  rare  in 
Ireland  then,  but  far  from  uncommon  now,  a  Con- 
servative Roman  Catholic.  The  last  time  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  him  was  as  we  travelled  together 
on  the  "Rakes  of  Mallow,"  a  coach  which  plied 
daily  between  Cork  and  Mallow ;  he  was  going,  he 
said,  to  consult  his  solicitor,  as  to  Avhether  he  could 
bring  an  action  against  a  priest  who  had,  on  the 
previous  Sunday,  denounced  him  in  chapel  about 
some  land  business ;  the  chapel  was  on  an  outlying 
property  of  his,  so  he  sent  for  one  of  his  herds,  who 
lived  there,  and  asked,  "Were  you  at  Mass  last 
Sunday?" 


1 68  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Herd.   "  I  was,  yer  honour." 

Sir  J.  "  Did  Father  S—  -  say  anything  about 
me?" 

Herd.   "  Well,  he  did  mention  your  honour." 

Sir  J.   "  What  did  he  say  ? " 

Herd.  "  Well  now,  your  honour,  I'm  afeared  you 
might  be  offinded  if  I  tould  you." 

Sir  J.  "  Not  a  bit.  You  must  tell  me  at  once,  as 
exactly  as  you  can,  what  he  said." 

Herd.  "  Well  now,  he  told  us  all  to  go  down  on 
our  knees,  and  pray  to  God  to  change  the  heart  of 
that  cruel,  tyrannical,  old  robber,  James  O'Connell." 

Sir  J.   "  What  did  you  do  ? " 

Herd.  "Why  then,  indeed,  I  went  down  on  my 
knees  and  prayed  strong  for  your  honour." 

On  this  same  "  Rakes  of  Mallow  "  coach  I  some- 
times travelled  with  John  Dillon  Croker,  of  Qarters- 
town,  a  clever  and  useful  county  gentleman,  but, 
without  exception,  the  greatest  talker  I  ever  met; 
it  was  impossible  "  to  get  a  word  in  edgeways."  So 
great  was  his  volubility  that  his  own  children  could 
not  sometimes  help  laughing  at  him,  and  the  country 
people  wondered  "  how  he  got  wind  for  it  all."  One 
very  wet  morning  he  travelled  inside  the  coach, 
while  his  son  Harry  and  I,  well  wrapped  up,  were 
outside.  When  we  stopped  at  Ballmamona  to 
change  horses,  to  our  surprise  out  of  the  coach  he 
came,  and  got  up  outside  with  us.  "  Why  on  earth, 


BEATEN  AT  LAST  169 

father,"  said  Harry,  "  do  you  come  out  in  this  down- 
pour ( "  "  Indeed,"  said  he,  "  there  was  an  old  lady 
in  the  coach  who  talked  so  much  that  I  could  stand 
it  no  longer."  "  Oh,  father,"  said  his  son,  "  are  you 
beaten  at  last  ? " 

On  another  journey  he  said  that  a  lady  who  was 
in  the  coach  with  him  was  the  most  agreeable  fellow- 
passenger  he  had  ever  travelled  with.  The  lady  was 
deaf  and  dumb ;  he  had  not  perceived  it. 


170  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  proselytizing  clergyman  —  Some  examples  of  religious  intol- 
erance —  An  inverse  repentance  —  The  true  faith  —  The  rail- 
way mania  —  Famine  of  1846  —  Mrs.  Norton  solves  a  difficulty 
—  The  old  Beefsteak  Club  —  A  pleasant  dinner-party. 

IN  the  year  1844  the  rector  of  a  parish  near  us 

was,  on  his  death,  succeeded  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  A , 

who  shortly  afterwards  went  in  for  proselytizing  — 
a  system  which,  as  far  as  my  experience  goes,  has 
never  done  the  slightest  good  in  Ireland,  but  often 
a  great  deal  of  harm  by  stirring  up  religious  animosi- 
ties, which  have  done  endless  mischief  to  our  country, 
and  which  it  ought  to  be  the  aim  of  every  Irishman 
to  allay.  Since  my  early  days  I  have  seen  a  vast 
improvement  in  everything  but  intolerance  in  re- 
ligion ;  that,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  as  strong  as  ever. 
It  is  sad  to-day  to  see  our  people  still,  as  Lady  Mor- 
gan says  they  were  in  her  days  — 

"...  a  glorious  nation, 
A  splendid  peasantry  on  fruitful  sod, 
Fighting  like  divils  for  conciliation, 
And  hating  one  another  for  the  love  of  God." 

Mr.  A ,  with  other  proselytizing  clergymen, 


QUEER   CONVERTS  171 

of  whom  happily  there  were  not  many,  did  succeed 
in  getting  a  few  converts,  such  as  they  were ;  but  in 
most  cases,  when  they  found  that  they  did  not 
obtain  the  temporal  advantages  which  they  supposed 
would  follow  their  conversion,  they  soon  returned  to 
their  former  faith. 

Many  stories — how  true  I  do  not  know  —  were 
told  of  Mr.  A —  -  and  his  wonderful  would-be  con- 
verts. Here  are  two. 

An  old  widow,  Bryan,  called  on  him,  and  on  being 
shown  into  his  library  and  asked  by  him  what  her 
business  was,  she  said,  "  Well  now,  your  raverence, 
it's  what — I'd  like  to  turn  Protestant." 

Mr.  A.  "  Why  do  you  wish  to  change  your  re- 
ligion ? " 

Widow  B.  "  Well  now,  I'm  told  your  raverence 
gives  a  blanket  and  a  leg  of  mutton  to  any  one  that 
turns." 

Mr.  A.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  would  sell 
your  soul  for  a  blanket '( " 

Widow  B.  "  No,  your  raverence,  not  without  the 
leg  of  mutton." 

Another  day  a  countryman  called  on  him  and 
said,  "I'm  come  to  give  myself  up  to  your  raver- 
ence because  I'm  unasy  in  my  mind  about  my 
religion." 

Mr.  A.  "What  particular  points  are  you  uneasy 
about?" 


172  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Countryman.  "Well  now,  your  raverence,  it's  no 
particular  points  that  is  throublin'  me ;  it's  a  sort  of 
giniral  unaysiness." 

On  further  questioning  him  it  came  out  that 
what  he  really  wanted  was  money  or  employment. 

Mr.  A.  "I'll  promise  you  nothing  whatever.  Do 
you  think  I'm  like  Mahomet,  to  take  converts  on 
any  terms  ? " 

Countryman.  "And  won't  I  get  anything  for 
turning  ? " 

Mr.  A.  "  Nothing.  Go  away ;  I'm  ashamed  of 
you." 

Countryman.  "Well,  God  bless  your  raverence 
anyway ;  and  maybe  your  raverence  would  tell  me 
where  that  Mr.  Mahomet  stops." 

One  of  his  converts,  James  Ryan,  known  as  Jim 
Lar,  I  knew  well.  After  trying  Protestantism  for  a 
fortnight  he  had  reverted  to  his  ancient  faith.  "  Jim 
Lar,"  I  said  to  him,  "  you  seem  to  be  very  unstable 
in  your  religious  views.  I  hear  you  were  a  Prot- 
estant a  fortnight  ago,  and  that  you  are  now  again 
a  Roman  Catholic."  "  Well  now,  your  honour,"  said 
he,  "  sure  you  wouldn't  like  me  to  be  damning  my 
soul  and  getting  nothing  for  it." 

I  shall  attempt  to  give  a  few  odd  examples  of  the 
height  to  which  religious  party  feeling  runs  amongst 
the  lower  classes.  Not  very  long  ago  an  old  Orange- 
man, in  the  county  of  Down,  was  asked,  "  Are  the 


RELIGIOUS  INTOLERANCE  173 

times  as  good  now,  Tom,  as  when  you  were  a  bo}r  ? " 
"  Faith,  they  are  not,"  answered  Tom  ;  "  they'd  take 
you  up  now  and  try  you  for  shooting  a  Papist." 

A  farmer  in  the  same  county  was  summoned 
before  a  bench  of  magistrates  for  not  having  his 
name  printed  on  the  shaft  of  his  cart ;  lie  said  he 
didn't  know  it  was  the  law,  he  was  a  loyal  man,  and 
wouldn't  break  the  law  on  any  account.  They  read 
him  the  section  of  the  Act,  which  requires  the  name 
and  address  of  the  owner  to  be  printed  on  the  shaft 
"  in  Roman  letters  one  inch  long."  "  Roman  letters ! " 
said  he.  "Roman  letters!  To  hell  with  the  pope  !" 

A  Roman  Catholic  clergyman  told  me  of  a 
woman  in  Cork  who  was  complaining  to  her  priest 
of  the  misconduct  of  her  son ;  that  he  was  always 
fighting,  gambling,  and  drinking,  and  often  beat 
her  when  he  was  drunk.  "Ah,"  said  the  priest, 
"  is  he  a  Catholic  at  all  ?  "  "  Begorra,  your  raver- 
ence,"  said  she,  "  it's  what  he's  too  good  a  Catholic. 
If  that  boy  had  his  will,  he'd  stick  every  Protestant 
-from  here  to  Tralee." 

A  Protestant  clergyman,  who  had  a  living  in  the 
north  of  Ireland,  on  visiting  one  of  his  parishioners 
who  was  very  ill,  in  fact  on  his  death-bed,  was  told 
by  the  man  that  he  was  quite  happy,  and  quite  willing 
to  die,  but  that  there  was  one  little  thing  annoying 
him  for  many  years.  The  clergyman  advised  him  not 
to  worry  himself  about  it,  whatever  it  was ;  he  was 


174  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

sure,  if  it  was  wrong,  he  hud  repented  of  it.  "It's 
not  troubling  me,  your  raverence,  in  that  way," 
said  he ;  "  it's  only  annoying  me  a  Avee  bit.  I'll  tell 
your  raverence  what  it  is.  In  the  big  fight  we  had 
with  the  Papists  thirty  years  ago,  I  had  a  priest 
covered  with  my  gun,  and  something  came  over  me 
that  I  didn't  pull  the  trigger;  and  that's  what's 
annoying  me  ever  since." 

In  a  well-known  parish,  in  the  province  of 
Leinster,  a  handsome  new  church  was  built  some 
thirty  years  ago.  In  the  stained-glass  window  at 
the  east  end  were  the  twelve  apostles.  Some  of  the 
Orangemen  and  extreme  Low  Churchmen  in  the 
parish,  being  scandalized  at  these  (as  they  called 
them)  "  emblems  of  popery,"  smashed  the  windows. 
Many  years  after,  an  old  parishioner,  on  his  death- 
bed, said  to  the  rector,  who  was  visiting  him,  "  Well, 
now,  your  raverence,  hadn't  we  the  real  fun  the 
day  we  broke  the  windows  in  the  church  ?  "  "  That 
was  before  my  time,"  said  the  rector."  "  So  it  was, 
so  it  was,"  said  the  old  man;  "and  more  is  the 
pity."  Then  he  began  to  laugh,  and  added,  "I 
stuck  my  stick  right  through  St.  Peter's  eye." 

The  Rev.  Doctor  McGettigan,  the  late  worthy 
Roman  Catholic  Bishop  of  Raphoe,  often  told  of 
an  incident  which  occurred  when  he  was  parish 
priest,  I  think,  of  Killybegs.  "I  was  suddenly 
called,"  he  said,  "from  my  home  to  see  an  un- 


EMBLEMS  OF  POPERY  175 

fortunate  sailor  who  had  been  cast  ashore  from 
a  wreck,  and  was  lying  speechless  on  the  ground, 
but  not  quite  dead.  The  people  standing  by 
said,  '  The  life's  in  him  still,  your  raverence ;  he 
stirred  a  little.'  So  I  stooped  down  and  said  to  him, 
'  My  poor  man,  you're  nearly  gone ;  but  just  try  to 
say  one  little  word,  or  make  one  little  sign  to  show 
that  you  are  dying  in  the  true  faith.'  So  he  opened 
one  of  his  eyes  just  a  wee  bit,  and  he  said,  '  To  hell 
with  the  pope! '  and  he  died." 

Another  story  of  the  bishop's,  of  quite  a  different 
kind,  was  this.  He  had  slept  one  night  at  a  farm- 
house in  a  remote  part  of  his  diocese,  and  was 
awakened  very  early  in  the  morning  by  some  one 
calling  out  several  times,  "  Who  are  you  ? "  To 
which  he  answered,  "  I  am  the  most  Reverend 
Doctor  McGettigan,  Bishop  of  Raphoe,  the  oldest 
bishop  in  Ireland ;  indeed,  I  believe  I  may  say  the 
oldest  bishop  in  Her  Majesty's  dominions."  To 
which  the  same  voice  replied,  "  How  is  your  mother  ? " 
"  My  poor  dear  mother,  God  rest  her  soul ! "  said 
the  bishop,  "  died  twenty  years  ago  last  Candlemas." 
The  voice  repeated  twice  in  rapid  succession,  "  How 
is  your  mother  ? "  He  sat  up  in  bed  to  see  who  the 
inquirer  was,  and  beheld  a  grey  parrot  in  a  large 
cage  by  the  window. 

In  the  old  days  of  the  Orange  Corporation  in 
Dublin,  the  pedestal  of  the  equestrian  statue  of 


176  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

William  III.  in  College  Green,  was  painted  orange 
and  blue.  On  the  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  the 
Boyne  the  statue  was  decked  with  orange  lilies  and 
orange  ribbons,  and  on  the  pedestal,  below  the  up- 
lifted foot  of  the  horse,  was  placed  a  bow  of  green 
ribbon.  "  Ah,"  said  a  man  passing  by,  "  see  what 
respect  the  baste  shows  to  the  green !  See  how  he 
keeps  his  foot  up  in  that  unasy  posture,  for  fear  he 
might  thrample  on  it !  " 

Some  pikes  which  had  been  found  concealed  were 
exhibited  at  a  Conservative  meeting  in  Dublin. 
Some  one  cried  out,  "A  groan  for  the  pikes."  A 
voice  from  the  crowd  replied,  "  A  bloody  end  to 
them ! " 

Anything  suggests  politics.  My  father  told  me 
that  at  a  theatre  in  Dublin,  shortly  after  the  Union, 
when  a  well-known  actress  was  singing  a  favourite 
song,  the  refrain  of  which  was  "  My  heart  goes  pit- 
a-pat, pit-a-pat,"  a  man  from  the  gallery  cried,  "  A 
groan  for  Pitt,  and  a  cheer  for  Pat ! " 

In  the  year  1845  came  the  railway  mania.  Pro- 
spectuses in  hundreds  appeared,  holding  out  the  most 
enticing  inducements  to  the  public  to  take  shares. 
One  line  was  to  develop  the  resources  of  Ballyhooly, 
a  miserable  village  in  the  county  of  Cork ;  another 
to  promote  and  encourage  the  cockle  trade  at  Sandy- 
mount,  where  there  is  a  strand  on  which,  at  low 
water,  may  be  seen  a  dozen  old  women  gathering 


A  RAILWAY  MANIA  177 

cockles.  All  over  the  country,  engineers  and  sur- 
veyors were  levelling  and  surveying.  One  of  these, 
an  assistant  of  Sir  John  MacNeill,  was  so  engaged 
near  Thurles,  when  a  farmer,  on  whose  land  he  was 
working,  said  to  him,  "  May  I  make  so  bould,  sir,  as 
to  ax  what  brings  you  here,  and  what  you  are 
doing?"  "I'm  laying  out  a  railway,"  said  he. 
"Begorra,"  said  the  farmer,  "you  are  the  fifth  of 
them  that  has  been  here  this  week,  and  it's  what  it's 
my  belief  there  isn't  an  idle  blackguard  in  Dublin 
that  has  nothing  to  do  that  isn't  sent  down  here  to 
lay  out  railroads." 

One  of  the  surveyors  was  taking  levels  in  a  village 
where  the  road  was  so  steep  that  the  levelling  staff 
had  to  be  held  within  a  few  yards  of  him.  As  he 
looked  at  the  staff,  which  was  held  by  one  McEvoy, 
through  the  telescope  of  his  level,  he  heard  a  woman 
at  her  cottage  door  calling  to  her  husband,  "Ah, 
then,  Jim,  come  here  and  look  at  this.  You  never 
seen  the  like  before.  Here's  a  gintleman  making  a 
map  of  Mickey  McEvoy." 

Shortly  before  the  years  of  famine,  which  began 
in  1846,  our  home  at  Abington  was  broken  up  by 
the  death  of  my  father.  He  died  in  1845.  Great 
as  was  his  loss  to  us,  I  have  often  since  felt  glad 
that  he  was  spared  the  grief  and  pain  of  those  terri- 
ble years,  when  he  would  have  had  famine  and 
fever  on  every  side,  and  would  have  seen  the  poor 


178  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

people,  to  whom  he  had  endeared  himself  by  a 
thousand  acts  of  kindness,  and  who  were  very  dear 
to  him,  dying  by  hundreds  around  him,  and  enduring 
sufferings  which,  had  he  spent  his  all,  as  he  would 
have  gladly  done,  he  would  have  been  powerless  to 
relieve. 

During  those  years,  though  my  residence  was  in 
Dublin,  I  travelled  a  great  deal  through  the  country, 
and  witnessed  many  a  heart-rending  scene,  never  to 
be  forgotten ;  but  as  they  would  pain  the  feelings  of 
my  readers,  I  shall  only  relate  the  incidents  of  two 
consecutive  days.  As  I,  with  my  assistant  engineer, 
was  walking  along  the  railway  works  which  had  just 
been  commenced  near  Mallow,  and  which  during  the 
remainder  of  the  famine  gave  much  employment  and 
relief,  we  passed  near  the  old  churchyard  at  Burn- 
fort.  Several  dogs  were  fighting  and  howling  there ; 
my  assistant  ran  down  to  see  what  they  were  about. 
He  found  them  fighting  over  the  bodies  of  some  poor 
creatures  who  had  died  of  famine,  and  had  that 
morning  been  buried  —  if  buried  it  can  be  called  — 
without  coffins,  and  so  close  to  the  surface,  that  they 
were  barely  covered  with  earth.  "We  had  coffins 
made  for  them,  and  had  them  buried  at  a  proper 
depth.  Next  day,  as  I  rode  again  from  Cork  to  Mal- 
low, I  went  into  the  Half-way  House  for  a  few  min- 
utes ;  a  poor  woman,  barefooted  and  miserably  clad, 
with  three  children,  came  in.  So  stricken  with  fain- 


THE  OLD  BEEFSTEAK  CLUB  179 

ine  was  she,  that  she  could  scarcely  speak.  I  ordered 
coffee  and  bread  for  them.  Xo  sooner  had  she  taken 
a  little  than  she  fainted.  At  first  we  thought  she 
was  dead,  but  after  a  little  time  we  brought  her 
round.  The  same  night  I  had  to  start  for  London ; 
and  next  evening  saw  a  carpet  spread  across  the 
footway  to  the  carriage  way,  lest  the  damp  should 
chill  the  feet  or  soil  the  shoes  of  some  fashionable 
lady.  The  contrast  was  a  painful  one.  Are  there 
no  such  contrasts  to-day  within  the  great  city  itself  ? 
It  was  on  one  of  my  visits  to  London  later  on  — 
in  the  year  1861,  I  think  —  that  I  met  my  old  friend, 
Mr.  Fred.  Ponsonby  (now  Lord  Bessborough)  in  the 
lobby  of  the  House  of  Commons.  Lie  asked  me,  if 
I  had  no  other  engagement,  to  dine  with  him  at  the 
Beefsteak  Club  on  the  following  Saturday.  "We 
dine,"  he  said,  "  at  the  primitive  hour  of  six ;  but 
you  will  get  away  at  ten."  I  accepted  his  invitation 
with  pleasure,  and  thought  no  more  about  it  till  the 
Saturday  forenoon,  when  I  turned  to  the  directory 
to  find  the  address  of  the  club ;  but  there  was  no 
mention  of  it  there.  I  then  made  inquiries  of  some 
friends  ;  some  of  them  had  never  heard  of  it ;  others 
had,  but  did  not  know  where  it  was.  I  was  in  a 
strait  what  to  do.  I  did  not  know  where  Ponsonby 
was  staying,  so  could  not  ask  him.  In  my  difficulty 
I  bethought  me  of  Mrs.  Norton.  u  She  will  know, 
or  will  find  out  for  me,"  I  thought.  So  off  to  her 


i8o  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

house  in  Chesterfield  Street,  I  went.  Fortunately  I 
found  her  at  home.  I  asked  her  if  she  knew  any- 
thing about  the  club. 

"I  ought  to  know  about  it,"  she  said,  "for  my 
father  and  my  grandfather  "  (R.  B.  Sheridan)  "  were 
members  of  it.  One  of  their  rules  is  that  they  must 
meet  under  the  roof  of  a  theatre.  They  were  burnt 
out  of  old  Drury  Lane,  and  out  of  other  theatres, 
and  where  they  now  meet  I  do  not  know  ;  but  Cole 
will  tell  us."  So  she  rang  for  Cole,  her  maid.  When 
she  appeared,  Mrs.  Norton  said,  "  Cole,  where  does 
the  Beefsteak  Club  dine  at  present?" 

"  At  the  Lyceum,  ma'am,"  replied  Cole.  "  You 
go  in  by  a  green  door  at  the  back  of  the  theatre." 

"  That  will  do,  Cole." 

As  soon  as  she  had  left  the  room  I  said,  "  In  the 
name  of  all  that's  wonderful,  how  does  Cole  know 
all  this?  Is  she  a  witch ?" 

"  Cole  has  changed  her  name  since  you  saw  her 
last,"  she  said.  "  She  is  now  Mrs.  Smithson,  though 
I  still  call  her  Cole.  Her  husband  is  a  waiter,  Avho 
attends  dinner  parties,  and  I  thought  he  might  have 
told  her  something  about  this  club." 

At  six  o'clock  I  was  at  the  green  door,  and  on 
entering  found  my  host  and  other  members  of  the 
club,  and  two  guests. 

As  the  original  club  ceased  to  exist  some  five 
and  twenty  years  ago,  some  account  of  my  recollec- 


"BEEF  AND  LIBERTY"  181 

tion  of  it  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  my  readers. 
It  consisted,  I  think,  of  twenty  or  four  and  twenty 
members,  and  my  friend  told  me  that  latterly  they 
seldom  dined  more  than  twelve  or  fourteen.  The 
day  I  was  there  we  were  twelve,  three  of  whom 
were  guests  —  the  late  Lord  Strathmore,  who  was, 
I  think,  made  a  member  of  the  club  that  evening ; 
Fechter,  the  famous  actor;  and  myself.  In  the 
middle  of  the  ceiling,  over  the  dinner-table,  was 
the  original  gridiron,  which  had  been  rescued  from 
the  ruins  of  the  theatres  out  of  which  the  club  had 
been  burnt.  In  large  gold  letters  round  the  gridiron 
were  the  words,  "BEEF  AND  LIBERTY."  The  same 
words  were  woven  in  the  centre  of  the  tablecloth, 
and  engraved  on  all  the  plates  and  dishes,  and  they 
appeared  again  in  gold  on  the  wall  at  the  end  of  the 
room,  through  a  sort  of  portcullis  in  which  you  saw 
the  beefsteaks  being  cooked.  Over  this  portcullis 
were  the  words,  "  IF  IT  WEKE  DONE,  WHEN  'TIS  DONE, 
THEN  'TWERE  WELL  IT  WERE  DONE  QUICKLY."  With 
the  exception  of  a  welch-rarebit  as  second  course, 
the  dinner  consisted  of  beefsteaks,  and  beefsteaks 
only.  These  came  in  in  quick  succession,  two 
by  two,  one  well  done,  the  other  rather  under-done, 
so  as  to  suit  all  palates.  The  drink  was  porter  and 
port  wine,  which  went  round  in  flagons.  The 
conversation  was  general,  and  full  of  fun. 

After  dinner  the  chairman  brewed  a  huge  bowl 


1 82  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

of  punch  —  whether  of  brandy  or  of  whisky,  I  forget ; 
the  vice-chairman  a  smaller  one  of  rum.  From  the 
bowls  jugs  were  filled,  one  of  which  was  placed 
before  each  of  those  at  table.  There  were  about 
the  room  many  old  theatrical  properties  of  various 
sorts ;  amongst  them  dresses  which  had  been  worn 
by  actors  famous  in  days  of  yore. 

The  chairman  wore  a  cloak  and  hat  which  Garrick 
had  worn  in  Hamlet.  There  were  only  two  or  three 
toasts  proposed,  one  of  which  was  the  health  of 
the  guests.  After  this  had  been  drunk  with  enthu- 
siasm, the  chairman  said,  "It  is  the  custom  here 
that  the  guests  shall  rise  and  return  thanks  simul- 
taneously." We  three  rose  and  declared  simultane- 
ously, but  each  in  his  own  words,  how  deeply  we 
felt  the  kind  manner  in  which  our  health  had 
been  drunk.  The  chairman  then  rose  again  and 
said,  "I  now  propose  that  the  excellent  speeches, 
which  have  just  been  delivered  by  our  eloquent 
guests,  be  printed  and  circulated  at  the  expense  of 
the  club.  As  many  as  are  of  that  opinion  will  say, 
'  Aye.' "  There  was  a  chorus  of  "  Ayes."  "  As 
many  as  are  of  the  contrary  opinion  will  say,  '  No.'  " 
Not  a  single  "  No,"  or  dissentient  voice.  Where- 
upon the  chairman  solemnly  said,  "  The  '  Noes '  have 
it."  After  that,  till  ten  o'clock,  "  the  night  drave 
on  wi'  sangs  and  clatter,"  when  we  separated,  after 
as  pleasant  an  evening  as  I  ever  spent. 


SMITH  O^BRIEN^S  REBELLION  183 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Smith  O'Brien's  rebellion  —  Louis  Philippe's  interview  with  the 
Queen,  as  seen  by  the  Boy  Jones  —  Plain  fare  and  pleasant  — 
Married  by  mistake  —  A  time  for  everything  —  A  pagan  altar- 
piece —  Drawing  the  long-bow  —  Proof  against  cross-ex- 
amination—  Fooling  the  English  —  Larceny,  or  trespass  ? 

IN  1848  I  went  to  live  at  Eathpeacon  House,  near 
Cork,  as  I  was  then  engaged  in  carrying  out  the 
completion  of  the  Great  Southern  and  "Western 
Railway  to  that  city. 

At  the  time  of  my  arrival,  the  French  Revolution 
had  just  broken  out,  and  all  through  the  south,  es- 
pecially in  "Rebel  Cork,"  there  was  the  wildest 
excitement.  A  rebellion  under  Smith  O'Brien  and 
the  other  Young  Ireland  leaders  was  daily  expected. 
A  revolution  in  England,  too,  was  hoped  for;  but 
this  hope  was  extinguished  by  the  suppression  of 
the  great  Chartist  meeting  in  London,  and  all  chance 
of  a  successful  rebellion  in  Ireland  ended  with  the 
arrest  of  Smith  O'Brien  and  the  dispersion  of  his 
followers,  after  the  abortive  rising  at  Slievenaman. 
It  was  here  that,  on  being  ordered  to  attack  a  police 
barrack  garrisoned  by  half  a  dozen  constables,  his 


1 84  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

gallant  troops  replied,  "Is  it  what  your  honour 
wants  us  to  go  up  there  to  be  shot  ? "  and  thereupon 
fled,  leaving  their  general  alone. 

In  Cork  many  Young  Irelanders  were  arrested, 
amongst  them  a  friend  of  mine,  Michael  Joseph 
Barry,  a  clever  young  barrister,  who  had  written 
some  stirring  songs  and  pleasant  Irish  stories,  and 
whom  I  visited  several  times  when  he  was  in 
prison. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  about  that  time  a 
boy  named  Jones  had  been  found  two  or  three  times 
concealed  in  Buckingham  Palace,  not,  as  it  came 
out,  with  any  felonious  intentions,  but  simply  from 
curiosity.  It  will  also  be  remembered  that  when 
Louis  Philippe  fled  from  France,  nothing  was  heard 
of  him  for  some  days;  and  as  all  the  world  won- 
dered what  had  become  of  him,  Barry  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing squib,  supposed  to  be  from  the  boy  Jones, 
which  appeared  in  the  Southern  Reporter,  then,  as 
now,  an  influential  Liberal  newspaper  in  Cork :  — 

"THE   FRENCH   REVOLUTION 

"  To  the  Editor  of  the  Southern  Reporter 

"  Mr.  EDITOR, 

"  My  mother  being  a  Blackpool  woman,  T  wish  to  give  you 
the  first  news  of  what  happened  between  Louis  Philippe  and 
her  Grayshus  Majesty.  I  was  behind  a  curtain  listenin'  to  the 
dialogue  on  Friday  evening. 


LOUIS  PHILIPPE'S  EXPERIENCES  185 

'My  dear  Vic,  ses  he, 
I'm  mighty  sick,  ses  he, 
For  I've  cut  my  stick,  ses  he, 
Tarnation  quick,  ses  he, 
From  the  divil's  breeze,  ses  he, 
At  the  Tooleyrees,  ses  he  ; 
For  the  blackguards  made,  ses  he, 
A  barricade,  ses  he. 
They're  up  to  the  trade,  ses  he, 
And  I  was  afraid,  ses  he, 
And  greatly  in  dread,  ses  he, 
I'd  lose  my  head,  ses  he ; 
And  if  I  lost  that,  ses  he, 
I'd  have  no  place  for  my  hat,  ses  he. 

'  Stop  a  while,  ses  she ; 
Take  off  your  tile,  ses  she. 
You're  come  a  peg  down,  ses  she, 
By  the  loss  of  your  crown,  ses  she. 

'  Mille  pardon,  ses  he, 
For  keepin'  it  on,  ses  he ; 
But  my  head  isn't  right,  ses  he, 
Since  I  took  to  flight,  ses  he ; 
For  the  way  was  long,  ses  he, 
And  I'm  not  over  sthrong,  ses  he. 

'  Indeed,  my  ould  buck,  ses  she, 
You  look  mighty  shuck,  ses  she. 

'  You  may  say  I  am,  ses  he  ; 
I'm  not  worth  a  damn,  ses  he, 
Till  I  get  a  dhram,  ses  he, 
And  a  cut  of  mate,  ses  he; 
For  I'm  dead  bate,  ses  he. 
I'm  as  cowld  as  ice,  ses  he. 


1 86  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

'  Never  say  it  twice,  ses  she ; 
I'll  get  you  a  slice,  ses  she, 
Of  something  nice,  ses  she ; 
And  we'll  make  up  a  bed,  ses  she, 
In  the  room  overhead,  ses  she. 

'  I  like  a  mathrass,  ses  he, 
Or  a  pallyass,  ses  he ; 
But  in  my  present  pass,  ses  he, 
Anything  of  the  kind,  ses  he, 
I  shouldn't  much  mind,  ses  he.' 

"  Here  a  grand  waither  dhressed  all  in  goold  brought  in  the 
ateables.  Her  Majesty  helped  Looey  to  some  cowld  ham,  which 
he  tucked  in  as  if  he  hadn't  tasted  a  bit  since  he  left  the  Tooley- 
rees.  By  degrees  he  lost  his  appetite  and  found  his  tongue,  but 
he  didn't  like  talking  while  the  waither  was  there,  so  he  touched 
her  Majesty,  and  ses  he  in  an  undertone  — 

'  Bid  that  flunkey  go,  ses  he, 
And  I'll  let  you  know,  ses  he, 
About  my  overthrow,  ses  he.' 

"  So  the  Queen  made  a  sign  with  her  hand,  and  the  flunkey 
tuck  himself  off  with  a  very  bad  grace,  as  if  he'd  have  liked  to 
be  listening.  When  the  door  was  shut  Looey  went  on  — 

'  'Twas  that  Guizot,  ses  he  — 
That  chap  you  knew,  ses  he, 
When  we  were  at  Eu,  ses  he, 
At  our  interview,  ses  he. 

'  Is  that  thrue  ?  ses  she. 
I  thought  he  and  you,  ses  she, 
Were  always  as  thick,  ses  she, 

As  — 


LOUIS  PHILIPPE '61  EXPERIENCES  187 

'  Don't  say  pickpockets,  Vic,  ses  he. 
Indeed,  we  wor  friends,  ses  he, 
And  had  the  same  ends,  ses  he, 
Always  in  view,  .ses  he ; 
But  we  little  knew,  ses  he, 
That  a  Paris  mob,  ses  he, 
Would  spoil  our  job,  ses  he. 
They're  the  divil's  lads,  ses  he  — 
What  you  call  Rads,  ses  he; 
But  your  Rads  sing  small,  ses  he, 
Before  powdher  and  ball,  ses  he, 
While  mine  don't  care  a  jot,  ses  he, 
For  round  or  grape  shot,  ses  he. 
Well,  those  chaps  of  mine,  ses  he, 
They  wanted  to  dine,  ses  he, 
And  to  raise  up  a  storm,  ses  he, 
About  getting  reform,  ses  he ; 
Which  isn't  the  thing,  ses  he, 
For  a  citizen  king,  ses  he, 
Or  a  well-ordhered  state,  ses  he, 
To  tolerate,  ses  he. 
So  says  I  to  Guizot,  ses  he, 
We  must  sthrike  a  blow,  ses  he. 
Ses  Guizot,  You're  right,  ses  he, 
For  they'll  never  fight,  ses  he; 
They're  sure  to  be  kilt,  ses  he, 
By  them  forts  you  built,  ses  he ; 
And  the  throops  is  thrue,  ses  he, 
And  they'll  stand  to  you,  ses  he. 
Then  ses  I  to  Guizot,  ses  he, 
Proclaim  the  banquo,  ses  he, 
And  let  them  chaps  know,  ses  he, 
That  Reform's  no  go,  ses  he. 
But  bad  luck  to  our  haste,  ses  he, 
For  stoppin'  the  faste,  ses  he, 


1 88  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

For  the  people  riz,  ses  he. 
And  that's  how  it  is,  ses  he, 
That  you  find  me  here,  ses  he, 
At  this  time  of  year,  ses  he, 
Hard  up  for  a  bed,  ses  he, 
To  rest  my  head,  ses  he. 

'  Did  you  save  you  tin?  ses  she. 

'Did  I?  (with  a  grin),  ses  he. 
Faix,  it's  I  that  did,  ses  he, 
For  I  had  it  hid,  ses  he, 
Lest  a  storm  should  burst,  ses  he, 
To  be  fit  for  the  worst,  ses  he.' 

"Here  Looey  stopped,  and  little  Lord  Johnny,  who  had 
been  peepin'  in  at  the  door,  walked  into  the  room,  just  as  the 
Queen,  who  had  caught  sight  of  him,  put  up  her  finger  for  him 
to  come  in.  Looey  rose  up  to  meet  him. 

'  Are  you  there,  ses  he, 
My  little  Premier?  ses  he. 
Gad  !  you're  lookin'  ill,  ses  he. 
Troth,  I  am,  King  Phil,  ses  he. 
Would  you  cash  a  bill,  ses  he, 
For  a  couple  of  mille  ?  ses  he. 
I've  no  tin  in  the  till,  ses  he. 
Good  night,  ses  Phil,  ses  he. 
I've  a  cowld  in  my  head,  ses  he, 
And  I'll  go  to  bed,  ses  he.' 

"  And  he  walked  out  of  the  room  in  a  great  hurry,  leaving 
Lord  Johnny  in  a  great  foosther,  and  indeed  her  Majesty  didn't 
look  over  well  pleased ;  but  there  the  matter  ended. 


FATHER  HORGAN  189 

"  P.  S.  —  You'll  hear  that  Looey  wasn't  in  London  at  all, 
but  you  may  thrust  to  the  thruth  of  the  above. 

"  Yours  to  command, 

"THE  BOY  JONES." 

It  was  some  time  after  this  a  western  member 
of  Parliament,  who  thought  he  knew  French  well, 
went  to  Paris  with  a  deputation  of  Irishmen  to  pre- 
sent an  address  to  Louis  Napoleon.  The  member 
of  Parliament  addressed  Napoleon  in  French,  but 
had  not  gone  far  when  Napoleon  said  he  must 
ask  him  to  be  so  good  as  to  speak  English,  which 
he  understood,  as  he  did  not  understand  Irish. 

About  a  mile  from  my  house  at  Rathpeacon  lived 
Father  Horgan,  the  good  old  parish  priest  of  Blarney, 
a  fine  sample  of  a  Roman  Catholic  priest  of  former 
days,  and  as  worthy  a  man  as  ever  lived.  He 
was  well  known  as  an  Irish  scholar  and  antiquarian, 
and  such  was  his  interest  in  and  love  for  the  old 
round  towers  of  Ireland  that  he  determined  to  build 
a  fac-simile  of  one  in  his  chapel-yard  as  a  mausoleum 
for  himself.  It  is  not,  however,  so  like  its  prototype 
as  he  meant  it  to  be.  The  difference  arose  in  this 
way.  A  large  subscription  had  been  made  in  the 
parish  for  its  erection,  and  Father  Horgan  rashly 
began  to  build  before  he  had  sufficiently  considered 
whether  he  had  enough  to  finish.  When  the  tower 
had  risen  to  one-half  its  height  the  funds  began  to 
fail,  and  as  he  either  could  not  or  would  not  raise 


190  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

more  money  in  the  parish,  he  had  to  cut  his  coat 
according  to  his  cloth,  and  was  forced  to  diminish 
its  diameter.  Its  appearance  as  it  stands  is  not 
unlike  that  of  a  gigantic  champagne  bottle. 

Father  Horgan  was  the  soul  of  hospitality,  and 
gave  many  a  dinner  party,  where  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men  were  wont  to  meet ;  at  the  upper 
end  of  his  table  were  clergy  and  gentry  of  the 
neighbourhood,  peasant  farmers  at  the  lower.  The 
eatables  were  alike  for  all  —  alternate  dishes  of 
chicken  and  bacon  all  down  the  table.  With  the 
drinkables  it  was  different;  there  was  wine  at 
the  upper  end,  whisky  (which  they  preferred)  for 
the  farmers  at  the  lower.  He  said  to  me,  "You 
see,  my  dear  friend,  I  don't  know  how  to  order  a 
big  dinner  with  all  sorts  of  dishes ;  and  if  I  did,  old 
Bridget  could  not  cook  it.  So  I  just  have  a  pair 
of  chickens  and  then  a  dish  of  bacon  and  greens, 
then  another  pair  of  chickens  and  another  dish  of 
bacon  and  greens,  and  so  on  all  the  way  down. 
Every  one  likes  chickens  and  bacon,  and  when  a  man 
sees  these  before  him  he  looks  for  nothing  else.  I 
am  saved  a  world  of  trouble,  and  every  one  seems 
happy  and  contented."  And  so  they  were,  and 
right  pleasant  those  homely  dinners  were  —  quite  as 

pleasant  as  those  given  by  a  Mr.  A ,  a  wealthy 

solicitor  in  Dublin,  famous  for  his  cook  and  for  the 
excellence  and  abundance  of  his  wine,  especially  his 
claret. 


A   PLEASANT  PARTY  191 

A  few  of  the  most  agreeable  men  in  Dublin  met 
at  one  of  these  parties  and  spent  a  thoroughly  enjoy- 
able evening.  A  few  days  afterwards  Chief  Justice 
Doherty,  who  had  been  one  of  the  guests,  met  Mr. 

A ,  and  said  to  him,  "  What  a  pleasant  party  we 

had  with  you  last  Tuesday  !  "  "  Do  you  call  that  a 

pleasant  party  ?  "  said  A .  u  /  don't."  "  Why 

not  ? "  said  Doherty.  "  Too  much  talk,  too  much 
talk,  you  couldn't  enjoy  your  wine,  you  drank  little 
more  than  a  bottle  each.  On  Wednesday  I  had 
nine  men  to  dinner,  and  they  drank  three  bottles  a 
man ;  and  you'd  have  heard  a  pin  drop  the  whole 
time.  That's  what  /call  a  pleasant  party." 

Amongst  my  friends  in  Cork  was  another  priest, 
Father  O'Sullivan,  generally  known  as  "  Father 
liufus  "  from  his  red  hair.  He  gave  me  the  follow- 
ing account  of  a  wedding  at  which  he  was  called 
upon  to  officiate  in  a  hurry.  Just  as  he  had  put  on 
his  hat  and  coat  and  was  leaving  his  house  to  drive 
to  Passage,  where  he  was  engaged  to  dine,  a  young- 
couple  met  him  at  his  door  and  said  they  had  come 
to  be  married ;  they  showed  him  their  papers  of 
authority  for  him  to  marry  them,  which  were  all 
right.  He  told  them  to  come  early  next  morning, 
as  he  was  in  too  great  a  hurry  then  ;  but  they  said 
they  were  in  a  greater  hurry,  as  they  were  going 
to  America,  and  had  to  start  for  Liverpool  by  the 
Cork  steamer  that  evening.  So  he  brought  them 


192  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

into  his  sitting-room,  told  them  to  kneel  down,  and 
commenced  to  read  the  service.  When  he  had  gone 
on  for  a  while  the  young  man  said,  "  I  don't  know, 
your  raverence,  whether  it  makes  any  difference,  but 
I'm  only  a  witness  in  the  case.  The  boy  himself 
will  be  here  directly."  I  am  greatly  afraid,  from 
what  Father  Rufus  told  me,  the  ceremony  had  gone 
so  far  that  the  witness,  before  he  had  interrupted, 
was  married  to  the  girl ;  but  if  this  was  so  it  never 
was  divulged.  The  right  boy  very  soon  arrived,  the 
ceremony  was  performed  de  novo,  and  the  happy 
bride,  with  her  husband  •  (number  two),  was  in  time 
for  the  Liverpool  boat.  Not  so.  lucky  was  his 
reverence,  who  was  much  put  out  by  losing  his  good 
dinner  at  Passage.  Priests  are,  after  all,  but  men, 
and  dislike  as  much  as  others  being  disturbed  just  at 
or  immediately  before  or  after  meal-times. 

Father  H ,  the  pleasantest  of  all  priests,  past 

or  present,  gave  me  an  instance  of  this  kind,  when 
his  temper  was  sorely  tried.  Amongst  his  parish- 
ioners, was  Tom  Burns,  a  drunken  fellow,  who, 
when  in  his  cups,  was  violent,  and  often  beat  his 
wife.  One  cold  and  stormy  winter's  evening,  Father 

H ,  having  had  his  dinner,  had  settled  himself 

snugly  by  his  bright  fireside,  and  was  just  brewing 
his  tumbler  of  whisky  punch,  when  his  servant 
rushed  into  his  room,  crying  out,  "  Your  raverence 
is  wanted  out  instantly.  Tom  Burns  is  killing  his 


FATHER  H ^S  HOLY  VOICE  193 

wife,  and  if  you're  not  there  at  once  she  will  be 
dead."  Down  he  ran  to  the  cottage,  and  on  his 
arrival  found  that  they  had  succeeded  in  quieting 
Tom,  who  was  lying  in  a  state  of  drunken  exhaustion 
on  his  bed.  Father  H—  -  was  in  no  frame  of  mind 
to  speak  gently  to  him  ;  his  language,  I  fear,  was 
not  quite  clerical,  "  blackguard,"  "  drunken  ruffian  " 
being  about  his  mildest  expressions.  Tom  turned 
his  face  to  the  wall,  and  in  a  meek  and  humble  voice 
said,  "  Go  away,  your  raverence,  go  away.  I'm  not 
in  a  fit  state  to  listen  to  your  holy  voice." 

To  return  to  Father  Rufus,  one  of  his  oldest 
friends  was  Father  Prout,  the  eccentric  parish  priest 
of  Ardnagehy,  in  the  county  of  Cork ;  it  was  from 
him  that  Father  Frank  Mahony  took  his  well-known 
nom  deplume,  under  which  he  wrote  so  charmingly. 
When  Father  Rufus  was  in  Rome  studying  for  the 
Church,  old  Prout  came  there  to  purchase  an  altar- 
piece  for  his  chapel  —  a  subscription  had  been  raised 
for  the  purpose  —  and  called  on  him  to  ask  his 
assistance  and  advice.  He  went  with  him  to  many 
dealers  and  artists  whom  he  knew  ;  but,  after  a  long 
day's  search,  nothing  was  found  to  satisfy  his  friend. 
A  few  days  afterwards  Prout  called  again  to  say  he 
had  just  found  exactly  what  he  wanted  ;  but,  before 
buying  it,  he  would  like  Father  Rufus  to  see  it,  and 
give  his  opinion.  When  he  saw  it  he  exclaimed, 
"  Why,  man,  that  is  a  Diana  !  "  "I  don't  care  what 


194  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

it  is,"  said  Prout ;  "  it's  lovely,  and  I'll  have  it ; 
those  chaps  of  mine  at  Ardnagehy  will  never  know 
the  difference." 

In  giving  answers  the  Irish  peasantry,  as  a  rule, 
have  no  great  regard  for  truth,  but  like  to  give  the 
answer  which  they  think  will  be  most  agreeable 
to  the  questioner.  A  poor  Italian  organ-grinder, 
weary  after  the  long  walk,  asked  a  peasant  whom  he 
met  near  Carricktuohil  how  far  he  was  from  Cork. 
"  Just  four  short  miles,"  was  the  answer.  "  What 
do  you  mean,"  said  Father  Rut'us,  who  happened  to 
pass  at  the  time,  "  by  deceiving  the  poor  fellow  ? 
You  know  well  enough  it's  eight  long  miles." 
"  Sure,  your  raverence,"  said  the  other,  "  I  seen 
the  poor  boy  was  tired,  and  I  wanted  to  keep  his 
courage  up.  If  he  heard  your  raverence  —  but  I'm 
plazed  to  think  he  didn't  —  he'd  be  down-hearted 
entirely." 

A  story  which  is  well  known  in  Kerry  was  told 

me  long  ago  by  a  Mr.  R, ,  of  Tralee.  He  was 

shooting  with  an  English  friend,  a  Mr.  B .  They 

had  very  little  sport ;  so  Mr.  B said,  "  I'll  ask 

this  countryman  whether  there  are  any  birds  about 

here."  "  No  use  to  ask  him,"  said  Mr.  R ;  "  he'll 

only  tell  you  lies."  "I'll  ask  him,  at  all  events," 

said  Mr.  B .  "  My  good  man,  are  there  any 

birds  about  here  ? "  "  Lots  of  birds,  your  honour," 
said  he.  "Tell  me  what  sort  of  birds?"  "Well 


QUEER   GAME  195 

no\v,  your  honour,  there's  grouses,  and  woodcocks, 
and  snipes,  and  ducks,  and  pillibines,  and  all  sorts  of 

birds.''  "  Ask  him,"  whispered  R ,  "  whether 

there  are  any  thermometers."  "  Tell  me,"  said 

13 -,  "  do  you  ever  see  any  thermometers  here  ?  " 

"  Well  now,  your  honour,  if  there  was  a  night's 
frost,  the  place  would  be  alive  with  them." 

Many  years  afterwards,  as  I  drove  with  my  wife 
from  Killarney  to  Kenmare,  I  told  her  this  story. 
She  said  she  could  hardly  believe  it.  I  said,  "  I'll 
try  with  this  boy,  and  you'll  see  he'll  say  much  the 
same."  So  I  said  to  the  bare-legged  boy  who  was 
running  along  beside  the  carriage  — 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  little  river  near  us  ?  " 

Boy.    "  'Tis  the  Finnhry,  your  honour." 

"  Are  there  many  fish  in  it  ? " 

Boy.    "  There  is,  your  honour." 

"  What  sort  of  fish  ? " 

Boy.  "  There  do  be  throuts  and  eels,  your 
honour." 

"  Any  salmon  \ " 

Boy.    "  There  do  be  an  odd  one." 

"  Any  white  trout  ? " 

Boy.   "  There  do  be  a  good  lot  of  them." 

"  Any  thermometers  ? " 

Boy.  "Them  does  be  there,  too,  your  honour; 
but  they  comes  up  lather  in  the  season  than  the 
white  throuts." 


196  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

At  Carrigtuohil,  which  I  mentioned  just  now,  I 
got  a  curious  answer.  It  often  is  hard  to  get  from 
a  peasant  the  meaning  of  the  Irish  name  of  a  place. 
This  probably  arises  from  the  name  having  been  a 
good  deal  changed  from  what  it  originally  had 
been.  For  instance,  "  Tipperary "  was  originally 
Tubber  Ara  (the  Well  of  Ara) ;  "  Kaduane  "  was 
Rathduffown  (the  Fort  of  the  Black  River).  I 
asked  a  country  fellow,  "What  is  the  English  of 
Carrigtuohil ? "  "I  never  heard  any  English  or 
Irish  name  upon  it,  only  Carrigtuohil  alone,"  said 
he.  "  I  know,"  said  I,  "  it  has  no  other  name,  but 
I  want  to  know  the  meaning  of  the  name."  "  Well 
now,  your  honour,"  he  answered,  "I  never  heard 
any  meaning  for  it  only  Carrigtuohil  alone."  "  I 
know  'Carrig'  means  a  rock,"  I  said;  "but  what 
does  '  tuohil '  mean  ? "  "  Well  now,  your  honour, 
it's  what  I  can't  tell  you  why  its  called  Carrigtuohil, 
unless  it's  because  Mr.  Coppinger  lives  below  there 
in  Barry's  Court." 

Amongst  the  leading  counsel  engaged  for  and 
against  the  Great  Southern  Railway  Company,  who 
were  purchasing  land  for  their  line  in  the  county  of 
Tipperary,  were  Fitzgibbon  and  Rolleston.  They, 
with  two  or  three  others,  were  out  for  a  walk,  one 
fine  Sunday  afternoon,  and  sat  down  to  rest  on 
a  sunny  bank  in  a  field  near  Templemore.  Rolles- 
ton pointed  out  the  spot  in  an  adjoining  field  where 


A  DIFFICULT  WITNESS  197 

a  Mr.  E —  -  had  been  murdered  some  time  before. 
Two  men  had  been  tried  for  the  murder,  but  were 
not  convicted,  though  it  was  well  known  through 
the  country  that  they  were  the  murderers.  Kolles- 
ton  had  been  counsel  for  the  prosecution. 

"Ah,"  said  Fitzgibbon,  "if  I  had  been  in  that 
case  I'd  have  got  a  conviction." 

"Why  do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Eolleston. 

"  Because,"  said  Fitzgibbon,  "  I  would  have  broken 
down  the  witnesses  for  the  defence  on  cross-exami- 
nation. I  never  saw  a  lying  witness  that  I  could 
not  break  down." 

It  was  quite  true  that  Fitzgibbon  was  a  very 
powerful  cross-examiner ;  but  it  was  supposed  that 
he  somewhat  overrated  his  powers. 

"  "Well,"  said  Rolleston,  "  try  your  hand  on  that  boy 
standing  over  there  ;  you  may  be  sure  he  knows  all 
about  the  murder ;  and  I'll  bet  you  a  pound  you  won't 
get  any  satisfactory  information  about  it  from  him." 

"  Done,"  said  Fitzgibbon.  "  Come  here,  my  boy. 
Do  you  live  near  here  ( " 

Boy.  "  I  do,  your  honour ;  I  live  in  that  house 
below  there." 

Fitzgibbon.    "  Do  you  know  Mr.  E —  —  ?  " 

Boy.    "  I  do  not,  sir." 

Fitzgibbon.    "  I  heard  he  lived  near  this." 

Boy.  "  So  he  did,  your  honour,  in  that  big  white 
house." 


198  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Fitzgibbon.  "  Then  how  is  it  you  don't  know 
him?" 

Boy.   "  Because  he  is  dead,  sir." 

Fitzgibbon.  "  I'm.  sorry  to  hear  that,  but  are  you 
sure  he  is  dead  ?  " 

Boy.   "  Didn't  I  see  him  dead  ?  " 

Fitzgibbon.  "  Where  ? " 

Boy.   "  In  that  field  below,  your  honour." 

Fitzgibbon.  "  Did  you  perceive  anything  particular 
about  him?" 

Boy.   "  I  did." 

Fitzgibbon.    "  What  was  it  ?  " 

Boy.   "  He  was  lying  in  a  lough  of  blood,  sir." 

Fitzgibbon.   "  Then  perhaps  he  had  been  killed  ? " 

Boy.   "  Begorra,  he  was  killed,  your  honour." 

Fitzgibbon.  "  Now,  like  a  good  boy,  tell  me  did 
you  ever  hear  how,  or  by  whom,  he  was  killed  ? " 

Boy.   "  I  did,  your  honour." 

Hereupon  Fitzgibbon  looked  triumphantly  at 
Rolleston;  and,  confident  that  he  would  win  his 
bet,  said  to  the  boy  — 

"  Now,  tell  me  exactly  what  you  heard  ? " 

"  Well,  your  honour,  I  heard  it  was  what  he  fell 
asleep  in  the  field,  and  a  weazel  sucked  him." 

Upon  this  there  was  such  a  laugh  at  Fitzgibbon, 
that  he  gave  up  his  examination,  and  handed  a 
pound  to  Rolleston. 

I  heard  a  very  bullying  counsel,  Deane  Freeman, 


CROSS-EXAMINATION  199 

completely  put  out   in  his  cross-examination   by  a 
very  simple  answer. 

Freeman  (to  Witness}.   "  So  you  had  a  pistol  ? " 

Witness.   "  I  had,  sir." 

Freeman.   "  Who  did  you  intend  to  shoot  with  it  ? " 

Witness.   "  I  wasn't  intending  to  shoot  no  one." 

Freeman.  "Then  was  it  for  nothing  that  you 
got  it  ? " 

Witness.    "  No,  it  wasn't." 

Freeman.  "  Come,  come,  sir,  on  the  virtue  of  your 
solemn  oath,  what  did  you  get  that  pistol  for?" 

Witness.  "  On  the  virtue  of  my  solemn  oath,  I  got 
it  for  three  and  ninepence  in  Mr.  Kichardson's  shop." 
(Much  laughter  in  court.) 

Freeman.  "  Oh,  how  very  witty  you  are !  You 
may  go  down." 

At  another  time  he  said  to  a  witness,  "  You're  a 
nice  fellow,  ain't  you?"  Witness  replied,  "I  am  a 
nice  fellow ;  and  if  I  was  not  on  my  oath,  I'd  say 
the  same  of  you." 

I  was  told  of  another  witness,  a  labouring  man, 
whose  answers  on  his  direct  examination  were  rather 
discursive.  He  was  asked  by  the  cross-examining 
counsel,  "Now,  my  good  man,  isn't  all  this  that 
you  have  been  telling  to  my  friend  here  only  a 
hypothesis  ? " 

Witness.  "  Well,  if  your  honour  says  so,  I  suppose 
it  was." 


200  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Counsel.  "  Come,  sir,  on  your  oath,  do  you  know 
what  a  hypothesis  is  ? " 

Witness.   "  Well,  now,  I  think  I  do." 

Counsel.   "  Then  tell  me  what  it  is  ? " 

Witness.  "Well,  now,  I  think  it's  some  part  of 
the  inside  of  a  pig,  but  I'm  not  exactly  shure  what 
part  it  is." 

Judge  Burton,  who  was  a  very  old  and  wizened 
little  man,  was  trying  a  case,  when  another  very 
old  man,  scarcely  able  to  walk,  came  into  court  to 
give  evidence.  Instead  of  going  to  the  witness-box, 
he  went  towards  the  passage  leading  to  the  bench. 
McDonagh,  the  counsel,  called  out  to  him.  "  Come 
back,  sir,  where  are  you  going?  Do  you  think  you 
are  a  judge  ? "  "  Indeed,  sir,"  said  the  old  man  look- 
ing up  at  Judge  Burton  —  "indeed,  sir,  I  believe  I 
am  fit  for  little  else." 

It  is  sometimes  hard  to  say  whether  such  answers 
are  given  in  truthful  simplicity  or  not;  but  certainly 
the  peasants,  particularly  in  the  south,  do  like  to 
take  in  a  stranger.  A  nephew  of  mine  was  staying 
with  me,  some  years  ago,  at  my  fishing  quarters  in 
Kerry.  In  the  evening  of  the  day  he  had  arrived 
he  told  me  that  young  Dan  Neale,  then  my  fishing 
boy,  or  gillie,  had  given  him  a  wonderful  account 
of  an  enormous  eel,  which  ran  ashore  near  Black- 
water  Pier.  It  was  very  nearly  as  thick  as  a  horse, 
and  it  had  a  great  mane  on  its  neck ;  he  and  a  dozen 


THE   TOURIST'S  SEAT  201 

of  the  other  men  and  boys  had  great  work  in  killing- 
it  with  spades  and  shovels. 

"  He  was  humbugging  you,"  said  I. 

"  No,"  said  he.  "  It  must  be  true ;  he  told  me 
every  detail  about  it,  and  the  names  of  some  of  the 
men  who  helped  to  kill  it,  and  he  was  perfectly 
serious  at  the  time." 

Next  morning,  when  Dan  appeared,  I  called  him 
up  before  my  nephew,  and  said,  "  Dan  Neale,  did 
you  ever  see  an  enormous  eel  run  ashore  at  Black- 
water  Pier?" 

"  I  never  did,  your  honour,"  said  Dan. 

"  Then  why  did  you  tell  me  that  long  story  about 
it?"  said  my  nephew. 

"  To  be  making  a  fool  of  your  honour,"  said  Dan. 

When  I  told  this  to  my  old  friend,  the  late  Mr. 
Valentine  O'Connor,  he  gave  me  the  following  ac- 
count of  how  a  young  English  lady,  who  had  never 
been  in  Ireland  before,  was  made  a  fool  of  by  a 
Kingstown  car-driver.  O'Connor,  who  lived  near 
Blackrock,  about  two  miles  from  Kingstown,  was 
expecting  the  arrival  from  England  of  a  governess 
for  his  daughters.  He  and  Mrs.  O'Connor  had  just 
sat  down  to  breakfast  when  an  outside  car  drove 
past  the  window  to  the  hall  door,  the  young  gov- 
erness sitting  up  on  high  in  the  driver's  seat,  while 
he  sat  on  the  side  of  the  car.  On  inquiry,  it  came 
out  that  on  leaving  Kingstown  the  driver  was  sitting 


202  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

on  one  side  (as  they  often  do),  and  the  young  lady 
on  the  other.  She  pointed  to  the  driving  seat,  and 
said  to  him,  "Carman,  what  is  that  seat  there  for?" 
"Well,  my  lady,"  said  he,  "that  sate  up  there  is 
mostly  for  tourists.  They  gets  a  betther  view  of 
the  country  from  it  than  they  would  from  the  side 
of  the  car.  We  mostly  charges  them  a  shilling  extra 
for  it,  but  you  seem  to  be  such  a  plasm'  young  lady 
that  you  may  get  up  into  it  for  sixpence."  So  she 
paid  him  sixpence  and  got  up. 

Amongst  those  who  afforded  amusement  to  their 
neighbours  in  Cork  was  an  old  lady,  Miss  McCall, 
generally  known  as  "  Betty  McCall,"  who,  with  her 
niece,  lived  at  a  very  pretty  place  near  Glanmire. 
She  was  very  tenacious  of  her  rights,  and  was  known 
to  wander  about  with  a  large  horse-pistol  in  her  hand 
in  quest  of  trespassers.  She  heard  that  some  of  her 
neighbours,  amongst  them  being  Mr.  Abbott  the 
Quaker,  were  in  the  habit  of  bathing,  early  in  the 
morning,  in  the  river  that  passed  through  her 
grounds.  This  annoyed  and  shocked  her  much,  and 
finding  that  notices  threatening  prosecution  were 
posted  up  in  vain,  she  told  her  gardener  she  would 
not  keep  him  unless  by  some  means  he  put  a  stop  to 
these  dreadful  practices.  Having  turned  the  matter 
over  in  his  mind,  he  thought  the  most  effectual  way 
would  be  to  conceal  himself  and  watch  for  bathers 
and  take  away  their  clothes.  One  morning  as  Betty 


LARCENY  OR   TRESPASS?  203 

and  her  niece  Lizzie  were  sitting  in  their  bow- 
window  at  their  early  breakfast,  a  tall  and  portly 
figure,  devoid  of  clothing,  passed  the  window  and 
rang  violently  at  the  hall  door,  which  was  quickly 
opened  by  her  maid,  but  still  more  quickly  shut ; 
whereupon  Mr.  Abbott,  for  it  was  hB,  put  his  mouth 
to  the  keyhole  and  called  out,  "Tell  Betty  McCall 
that  Brother  Abbott,  having  done  nothing  whereof 
to  be  ashamed,  has  come  to  ask  for  his  clothes." 
Betty  took  out  a  summons  against  Abbott  for  tres- 
pass, he  against  her  for  larceny  of  his  clothes.  Much 
amusement  was  expected  in  court,  but  neither  case 
ever  came  on,  as,  through  the  interference  of  friends, 
a  compromise  was  effected. 


204  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Anthony  Trollope :  his  night  encounter  —  A  race  for  life  on  an 
engine  —  Kailway  adventures  —  I  become  Commissioner  of 
Public  Works — Some  Irish  repartees  and  ready  car-drivers 
—  Rail  against  road  —  No  cause  for  uneasiness. 

IT  was  in  Cork  I  first  met  Anthony  Trollope,  who 
was  then  an  employe  in  the  Post-office  Department. 
He  gave  me  the  following  account  of  his  first  visit 
to  Ireland.  He  had  been  ordered  to  proceed  at  once 
to  a  remote  village  in  the  far  west,  to  make  inquiries 
respecting  irregularities  in  the  post-office  there. 
After  a  weary  journey,  he  arrived  late  in  the  after- 
noon at  his  destination,  and  had  to  put  up  at  a  small 
public-house,  the  only  place  of  entertainment  in  the 
village.  His  bedroom  was  approached  by  a  flight  of 
steps,  half  stairs,  half  ladder,  not  far  from  perpen- 
dicular. The  room  was  scantily  furnished;  it  con- 
tained two  beds  close  together,  a  table,  a  chair,  and 
a  basin-stand.  Weary,  after  his  long  journey  on  the 
outside  of  a  coach,  he  retired  early,  and  tried  to  fasten 
his  door,  but  found  he  could  not,  as  it  had  neither 
lock  nor  bolt.  When  he  went  to  bed  it  was  some 
time  before  he  slept,  as  he  felt  nervous  and  uncom- 


A  NIGHT  ENCOUNTER  205 

fortable  in  this  strange,  wild  place.  At  last  he  fell 
into  an  uneasy  restless  sort  of  sleep,  and  did  not 
know  how  long  he  had  been  sleeping,  when  he 
suddenly  woke  up  and  heard  a  footstep  stealthily 
approaching  his  bed.  Frightened,  and  but  half 
awake,  he  sprang  from  his  bed,  seized  the  intruder, 
and  found  himself  grappling  with  a  powerful  man, 
clad,  like  himself,  only  in  his  shirt,  whom  he  held 
so  tightly  by  the  throat  that  he  could  not  speak.  In 
their  struggle  they  came  to  the  open  door,  where 
his  antagonist  stumbled  and  fell  down  the  stairs. 

Aroused  by  the  noise  of  the  struggle  and  fall,  the 
inmates  of  the  house  rushed  into  the  room  and  struck 
a  light.  The  moment  they  had  done  so  Trollope 
heard  his  landlady  cry  out— 

"  Oh,  boys,  that  murderin'  villain  upstairs  has 
killed  his  raverence  ! " 

"  We'll  soon  settle  the  b sassenach,"  said  the 

men  rushing  to  the  steps ;  and  but  for  the  interven- 
tion of  the  half-strangled  priest,  who  had  now  come 
to  himself,  Trollope  would,  no  doubt,  have  been 
lynched. 

When  peace  was  established,  apologies  made  and 
accepted,  and  an  explanation  given,  he  found  that 
the  man  he  had  assaulted  was  the  parish  priest,  who, 
having  been  kept  out  at  a  late  call  in  this  remote 
part  of  his  parish,  had  come  into  the  public-house  to 
get  a  bed.  Hearing  that  an  English  gentleman  was 


206  SEVENTY   YEARS   OF  IRISH  LIFE 

occupying  the  other  bed  in  the  room,  lie  went  up  as 
noiselessly  as  possible,  undressed,  put  out  his  candle, 
and  was  creeping  to  bed  as  softly  as  he  could,  lest 
he  should  disturb  the  sleeping  stranger.  He  was 
amazed  when  he  was  seized  by  the  throat  and  flung 
down  the  stairs.  Fortunately  he  was  none  the  worse 
for  his  fall,  and  he  and  Trollope  became  fast  friends. 
After  some  time,  when  they  met  again,  they  had  a 
hearty  laugh  over  their  first  acquaintance. 

During  my  residence  in  Cork,  and  for  many 
years  afterwards,  I  constantly  travelled  on  engines, 
and  though  I  never  met  with  any  accident  worth 
speaking  of,  I  ran  some  risks,  of  which  the  following 
are  a  few  examples. 

One  pitch-dark  night  I  had  rather  an  unpleasant 
ride  from  the  Limerick  junction  to  Charleville. 
The  line  of  railway  from  Dublin  to  Cork  was  nearly 
finished  ;  a  single  line  of  rails  had  just  been  roughly 
laid  to  Charleville,  and  two  engines  were  employed 
in  ballasting  the  line  and  in  drawing  waggon-loads 
of  rails  and  sleepers.  One  of  the  engines,  called 
"  The  William  Dargan,"  after  the  contractor,  was  a 
large  and  powerful  one ;  the  other,  much  smaller, 
was  named  "  The  Lady  MacNeill,"  after  the  wife  of 
Sir  John  MacNeill,  the  engineer. 

I  was  staying  at  Charleville,  and  "had  to  attend 
a  trial  in  the  town  of  Tipperary.  I  told  Robert 
Edwards,  the  contractor's  engineer  —  a  wild,  reckless 


A    WILD  RIDE  207 

young  fellow  he  then  was  —  to  have  the  little  engine 
ready  at  the  junction  at  eight  in  the  evening,  to 
take  me  back  to  Charleville.  I  was  kept  later  in 
Tipperary  than  I  had  expected,  and  did  not  get  to 
the  junction  till  after  half-past  eight.  We  got  up  on 
the  engine  and  started,  Edwards  driving  at  a  great 
pace. 

"  Better  not  go  so  fast,  Edwards,"  said  I ;  "  the 
road  is  very  rough,  and  we'll  be  off  as  sure  as 
fate." 

"  I  know  the  road  is  rough,"  said  he ;  "  but  it's 
better  to  run  the  chance  of  being  killed  that  way, 
than  to  be  surely  killed  the  other  way  if  we  go 
slow." 

"  What  other  way  ? "  I  asked. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "I  told  the  'William  Dargan'  to 
start  from  Charleville,  with  a  rake  of  empty  wag- 
gons, exactly  at  nine  o'clock,  if  we  weren't  in  before 
that,  and  if  we  don't  run  fast  she'll  be  into  us,  and 
send  us  to  glory." 

"  Better  go  back  to  the  junction,  and  wait  till  she 
comes,"  I  suggested. 

"  Never  fear,"  he  said.  "  It's  only  twenty  miles ; 
I'll  do  it  in  time." 

So  on  we  went,  the  engine  jumping,  and  every 
minute  swaying  from  side  to  side;  two  or  three 
times  I  was  certain  we  were  off  the  line.  I  may  say 
we  were  running  for  our  lives,  for  when  we  arrived 


208  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

the  big  engine  had  actually  whistled,  and  in  half  a 
minute  would  have  started. 

A  few  days  later  things  did  not  turn  out  so  favour- 
ably. Either  through  some  misdirection  or  the  mis- 
understanding of  directions,  the  two  engines  did 
meet  on  the  line.  Edwards  and  an  assistant  of  his, 
named  Mulqueen,  with  the  driver  and  fireman,  were 
on  the  small  engine  —  I  was  not,  luckily  for  me,  able 
to  go  with  them  that  morning.  Just  as  they  came 
out  of  a  cutting  they  saw  the  big  engine  coming 
towards  them  at  full  speed.  "  Make  your  soul, 
Mulqueen ;  we're  done,"  said  Edwards.  The  driver 
reversed  the  engine  and  put  on  the  break,  and  just 
before  the  "  William  Dargan  "  was  upon  them  they 
jumped  off,  and  all  escaped  unhurt  except  Mulqueen, 
who  had  his  arm  broken.  The  weight  of  the  large 
engine  threw  the  little  "  Lady  MacNeill "  off  the 
line  and  down  an  embankment,  at  the  foot  of  which 
she  lay,  much  shattered,  on  her  side ;  the  "  William 
Dargan  "  held  its  own,  and  none  of  those  on  it  were 
hurt. 

One  night,  near  Thurlos,  some  one,  either  for 
mischief  or  for  sport,  dropped  a  huge  stone  from  the 
parapet  of  a  bridge  on  the  engine.  It  struck  the 
fireman,  who  fell  insensible  on  the  foot-plate.  We 
thought  at  first  that  he  was  killed,  but  he  soon 
revived ;  his  head  was  badly  cut  and  his  collar- 
bone broken. 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE  209 

Another  time,  when  the  line  from  Waterford  to 
Tramore  was  just  finished,  I  was  riding  on  the 
engine,  when  we  saw  a  boy  placing  a  very  large 
stone,  which  he  could  scarcely  carry,  on  the  rail, 
lie  then  stood  beside  the  line  watching  for  the 
result.  We  pulled  up  as  quickly  as  possible,  and 
were  going  comparatively  slow  when  we  reached 
the  stone,  which  the  ironguard  in  front  of  the  wheel 
threw  off  the  line.  We  stopped  the  engine,  jumped 
off,  and  gave  chase  to  the  boy,  whom  we  very  soon 
captured.  He  was  a  small  boy  about  ten  years  old. 
We  led  him  back,  weeping  piteously,  and  took  him 
up  on  the  engine.  He  besought  us  not  to  kill  him. 
We  told  him  we  would  not  kill  him,  but  that  wo 
would  bring  him  into  Waterford,  where  he  would  be 
tried,  and  undoubtedly  hanged  next  morning  for 
trying  to  kill  us.  When  we  had  gone  about  half  a 
mile  we  stopped  and  let  him  off;  and  didn't  the 
little  chap  run !  He  evidently  feared  lest  we  should 
change  our  minds  again  and  deliver  him  up  to  the 
hangman. 

The  railway  between  Bagnalstown  and  Kilkenny, 
of  which  I  was  engineer,  was  a  single  line.  One 
morning  a  regiment  —  I  think  a  battalion  of  the 
llifle  Brigade  —  was  to  leave  Kilkenny  for  Bagnals- 
town. Owing  to  some  mistake  as  to  his  orders,  the 
station-master  started  a  heavy  goods  train  from  the 
latter  town,  and  telegraphed  to  the  station-master  at 


210  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Kilkenny,  "  Don't  start  the  soldiers  till  the  goods 
train  which  I  have  just  started  arrives."  The  reply 
he  got  was,  "  Your  goose  is  cooked ;  the  soldiers 
have  started."  Fortunately  the  trains  came  in  sight 
of  each  other  on  a  long,  straight  part  of  the  line ; 
but  even  so  the  drivers  were  barely  able  to  pull  up 
in  time  to  prevent  a  collision.  Had  they  met  any- 
where else,  an  accident  would  have  been  inevitable. 

In  1853  I  again  took  up  my  abode  in  Dublin.  I 
was  sorry  to  leave  Cork,  where  I  had  spent  five 
happy  years  amongst  some  of  the  kindest  and  most 
hospitable  people  in  Ireland,  and  where'  I  had  had 
plenty  of  salmon  and  trout  fishing  in  the  Lee  and 
other  rivers,  and,  as  I  had  leave  to  shoot  on  all  the 
neighbouring  properties,  capital  snipe  shooting  too. 
The  next  ten  years  were  the  busiest  of  my  life. 
During  them  I  was  engineer  to  many  railways  and 
other  important  works,  and  so  continued,  with  the 
additional  duties  of  engineer  to  the  Irish  Light  Hail- 
way  Board,  till  1863,  when  I  was  offered  the  appoint- 
ment of  Commissioner  of  Public  Works  in  Ireland, 
which  I  accepted,  having  been  much  pressed  to  do 
so  by  my  friends  in  the  Irish  Government. 

My  work  as  an  engineer  involved  much  travelling 
by  coach  and  car  in  country  and  in  town,  and  many 
a  pleasant  driver  I  have  met.  One  old  fellow  had 
driven  me  to  my  office  on  a  bitterly  cold  winter's 
morning.  I  arrived  in  a  snowstorm,  and  never  did 


HUMOROUS  JARVEYS  211 

I  see  such  a  picture  of  cold  as  the  poor  old  man ;  his 
whiskers  and  his  beard  stiff  with  frost  and  snow,  and 
a  miniature  icicle  depending  from  his  nose.  Having 
paid  him  his  fare,  I  said  to  him  (a  little  unfeelingly 
perhaps),  "  I  hope  the  midges  are  not  biting  you  this 
morning."  "Bedad,  they  are,  your  honour,"  he 
answered ;  "  an'  it's  what  I  think  this  hate  will  be 
for  thunder." 

On  Knockacuppal  Hill,  a  very  steep  one  on  the 
road  from  Mallow  to  Killarney,  a  small  boy  clad  in 
only  one  garment — an  old  corduroy  jacket  —  used 
to  run  after  the  coach  as  it  went  slowly  up  the  hill, 
asking  for  pennies.  I  heard  an  English  lady,  who 
was  on  the  box-seat  beside  the  coachman,  say  to  him, 
"  Isn't  it  very  sad  to  see  that  poor  little  fellow  with 
nothing  on  him  but  that  wretched  little  jacket?" 
"  Ma'am,"  said  the  coachman,  "  that  boy  could  have 
clothes  enough  if  he  choose."  "And  why  hasn't 
he?"  she  said.  "Well  now,  ma'am,  that  boy  is  so 
wonderful  ticklesome  that  he  never  could  stand  to 
let  a  tailor  take  his  measure  for  a  pair  of  trousers." 

The  Eev.  Dr.  Marshall,  a  well-known  convert  to 
Rome,  who  was  a  very  large  man,  about  nineteen  or 
twenty  stone  weight,  had  been  attending  a  meeting 
at  the  Rotunda,  in  Dublin,  and  took  a  covered  car  to 
go  to  Drumcondra,  where  he  was  staying.  Before 
he  got  into  the  car  he  asked  the  driver  to  tell  him 
what  the  fare  was. 


212  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Driver.   "  I'll  1'ave  that  to  you,  your  raverence.'' 
Dr.  Marshall.   "  But  how  much  is  it  ? " 
Driver.   "  Whatever  your  raverence  plazes." 
Dr.  Marshall.   "  That  won't  do.     I  shall  not  get 
into  the  car  till  you  tell  me  the  fare." 

Driver.  "  Get  in  at  once,  your  raverence,  for  if 
the  horse  turns  and  gets  a  sight  of  you,  the  divil  a 
step  he'll  go  at  all." 

The  late  Father  O'Dwyer,  parish  priest  of  Ennis- 
kerry,  gave  a  carman,  who  had  driven  him  home  on 
a  wet  day,  a  glass  of  whisky.  He  begged  for 
another  glass.  Father  O'Dwyer,  who  knew  that 
the  man  was  rather  too  fond  of  spirits,  refused,  and, 
still  holding  the  decanter  in  his  hand,  said,  "  Every 
glass  of  that  you  drink  is  a  nail  in  your  coffin." 
"  Why,  then,  your  raverence,"  said  the  man,  "  as 
you  have  the  hammer  in  your  hand,  you  might  as 
well  drive  another  nail  into  it." 

Another  priest  having  given  a  glass  of  whisky  to 
a  carman  who  complained  of  not  feeling  well,  said 
to  him,  "  How  do  you  feel  now  ?  Didn't  that  make 
another  man  of  you?"  "Bedad,  it  did,  your  raver- 
ence ;  and  the  other  man  would  like  a  glass  too." 

An  old  lady  getting  into  a  cab  in  Grafton  Street, 
in  Dublin,  was  heard  to  say  to  the  driver,  "  Help  me 
to  get  in,  my  good  man,  for  I'm  very  old."  "  Begorra, 
ma'am,"  said  he,  "  no  matter  what  age  you  are,  you 
don't  look  it." 


MY  FAVOURITE  CARMAN  213 

But  of  all  the  carmen  I  have  met,  George  Cullen 
of  Bray  is  my  favourite.  There  is  a  kindliness  and 
simplicity  about  him  that  is  quite  refreshing.  Paul 
Cullen,  I  used  to  call  him,  after  the  Roman  Catholic 
Archbishop  of  Dublin,  Cardinal  Paul  Cullen.  The 
carmen  at  Bray,  too,  often  called  him  Paul,  and,  on 
my  arrival  from  Dublin  at  the  railway  station,  would 
call  to  him,  "  Paul,  here's  the  masther  waiting  for 
you."  One  windy  day  his  hat  was  blown  off,  and 
one  of  them  said  to  him,  "  Begorra,  Paul,  you  were 
very  nearly  losing  your  mitre."  Sometime  after  I 
had  given  up  my  profession,  and  become  Commis- 
sioner of  Public  Works,  I  was  driving  home  on  his 
car,  when  we  had  the  following  conversation :  — 

Cullen.  "  Does  your  honour  get  your  health  as  well 
now  as  when  you  would  be  making  them  railroads  ? " 

/.  "  Yes,  Paul ;  thank  God,  I  am  as  well  as  ever 
I  was." 

Cullen.  "Does  your  honour  make  as  much 
money  ? " 

1.   "  No,  Paul,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  do  not." 

Cullen.  "But  I  suppose,  your  honour,  the  situa- 
tion is  more  respectable  like  ? " 

Another  time  he  told  me  of  a  ghost  that  was 
occasionally  seen  at  a  well  near  Bray  Commons. 

"  It  was,"  he  said,  "  the  spirit  of  a  poor  man  that 
was  run  over  and  his  head  cut  off  him  by  the 
Waxford  Coach." 


214  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  Did  you  ever  see  it,  Paul  ? "  said  I. 

"  Well  now,  your  honour,  I  got  a  sight  of  it  the 
other  night  when  I  was  afther  laving  you  and  the 
misthress  at  home  from  Judge  Crampton's.  It  was 
standing  near  the  well." 

/.   "  What  was  it  like  ? " 

Cullen.   "  Well,  it  was  in  the  form  of  a  man." 

/.   "  Did  you  speak  to  it  ? " 

Cullen.   "  The  Lord  forbid  that  I'd  spake  to  it." 

/.   "  Did  it  not  speak  to  you,  Paul  ? " 

Cullen.  "  It  didn't  speak  to  me,  your  honour ;  but 
it  made  a  terrible  buzz  out  of  it,  like  as  if  a  big  bee 
would  be  flying  a-past  you ;  and  away  I  dhrove 
home  as  fast  as  I  could  pelt." 

On  a  wet  and  warm  summer's  day  as  he  drove  me 
home  I  told  him  that  if  we  were  able  to  get  above 
the  clouds  we  should  find  it  a  lovely  bright,  cold 
day,  and  as  we  went  higher  it  would  grow  colder 
and  colder,  until,  if  we  got  up  high  enough,  we 
should  be  frozen  to  death.  "  I  got  a  skitch  of  that 
the  other  day,  your  honour,"  said  Paul.  "  There 
were  two  gentlemen,  tourists  I  think  they  wor;  I 
drove  them  all  round  by  Delgany  and  the  Glin  of 
the  Downs,  and  they  were  spaking  about  them 
things  —  balloons  I  think  they  call  them  —  and  one 
of  them  said  he  went  up  in  one  of  them  not  long 
since,  and  first  he  kem  into  a  hot  climate,  and  then 
into  a  cowld  climate,  and  above  that  again  he  got 


A   JEALOUS  COACHMAN  215 

into  a  climate  of  flies,  and  overhead,  above  all,  saving 
your  honour's  presence,  he  said  he  got  up  into  a 
stinkin'  climate.  That's  the  way  I  got  a  skitch 
of  it." 

When  the  railway  between  Dublin  and  Drogheda 
— one  of  the  first  in  Ireland  —  was  in  course  of  con- 
struction, I  constantly  travelled  between  these  places 
on  the  Drogheda  Coach,  of  which  old  Peter  Pentle- 
bury,  an  Englishman  with  an  Irish  wife,  was  the 
coachman.  He  would  never  bring  himself  to  believe 
that  the  line  would  be  finished,  so  for  a  time  he  was 
pleasant  and  chatty ;  but  as  he  saw  the  works  com- 
ing towards  completion  he  grew  morose,  and  would 
scarcely  speak  a  word  to  any  one  connected  with 
them. 

The  day  the  first  engine  ran  from  Drogheda  to 
Dublin,  as  Sir  John  MacNeill  and  I  were  standing  on 
the  foot-plate  of  the  engine,  we  saw  the  coachman's 
wife  on  the  platform. 

"Come  along,  Mrs.  Pentlebury,"  said  Sir  John, 
"  and  we'll  give  you  the  fastest  drive  to  Dublin  you 
ever  had." 

"  But  how  can  I  get  down  again  ? "  said  she. 

"  We'll  bring  you  in  in  plenty  of  time  to  come 
home  on  the  coach  with  your  husband." 

"  Well,  then,  I  thank  you  kindly,  Sir  John,  I'll 
go,"  she  said.  "  Shure  it  will  ever  and  always  be  a 
great  thing  for  me  to  say  I'm  the  first  woman  that 


216  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

ever  drove  from  Drogheda  to  Dublin  on  the  rail- 
road." 

"We  did  not  get  in  quite  as  soon  as  we  expected, 
and  by  the  time  she  arrived  at  the  coach-office,  in 
Dorset  Street,  Peter  was  already  on  the  box,  with 
the  reins  in  his  hand,  ready  to  start.  Great  was  his 
amazement  to  see  her. 

"  What  the  divil  brought  you  here  ? "  he  said. 

"  To  go  home  on  the  coach  with  you,  Peter  dear," 
said  she. 

"  How  did  you  come  up  to  town  ? " 

"  On  the  railroad  with  Sir  John  and  Mr.  Le  Fanu," 
she  said. 

"  "Well,  go  back  the  way  you  came,"  said  Peter,  in 
a  rage,  "for  the  divil  a  step  shall  you  come  with 
me ; "  and  off  he  drove. 

No  engine  was  going  back  to  Drogheda  that  day, 
so  she  hired  a  car  to  drive  the  thirty  miles,  for  which 
her  husband,  of  course,  had  to  pay  ;  but  that  wasn't 
all,  for  as  Mrs.  Pentlebury  had  a  remarkably  lively 
tongue  of  her  own,  he  got  a  blowing  up  that  he 
remembered  till  the  day  of  his  death.  So  poor  Peter 
had  cut  off  his  nose  to  vex  his  face. 

Some  time  after  the  railway  from  Dublin  to 
Belfast  was  opened,  before  the  days  of  smoking- 
carriages,  I  got  into  an  empty  compartment  at 
Scarva  junction,  and  had  just  lit  my  cigar,  when  an 
old  gentleman  got  in.  I  had  to  ask  him  whether 


THE  PORTER  AND    THE  PIPE  217 

he  had  any  objection  to  smoking,  and  pending  his 
answer  I  put  my  hand  with  my  cigar  in  it  out  of  the 
window.  I  felt  the  cigar  hitting  hard  against  some- 
thing, and  heard  a  voice  crying  out,  "  "Well,  if  you 
wouldn't  give  me  anything,  you  mightn't  go  dirtying 
my  hand  like  that."  It  was  a  porter  who  had 
stretched  his  hand  for  an  expected  sixpence,  instead 
of  which  the  lighted  end  of  my  cigar  was  pressed 
into  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

Ilberry,  formerly  traffic  superintendent  of  the 
Great  Southern  and  "Western  Railway,  told  me  of 
an  incident  which  he  saw  occur  about  the  same  time. 
A  man  was  sitting  in  a  carriage  next  to  the  open 
window  with  his  back  towards  the  engine,  in  one 
hand  a  pipe,  and  in  the  other  a  match,  which  he  was 
ready  to  light,  though  he  was  afraid  to  do  so  till  the 
train  should  start,  as  he  saw  a  porter  watching  him. 
Just  as  the  train  started  he  lit  the  pipe,  put  it  in  his 
mouth,  stretched  his  head  out  of  the  window,  and 
putting  his  thumb,  with  his  fingers  extended,  to  his 
nose,  gave  a  farewell  salute  to  the  porter.  He, 
however,  had  failed  to  perceive  or  reckon  with 
another  porter  standing  on  the  platform  between 
him  and  the  engine,  who  deftly  plucked  the  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth,  put  it  in  his  own,  and  with  his 
thumb  to  his  nose,  returned  the  passenger's  salute  as 
the  train  moved  off,  leaving  him,  poor  fellow,  without 
his  smoke  or  his  pipe. 


21 8  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Father  H—  -  told  me  that  he  had  got  into  a 
second-class  carriage  one  night  by  the  last  train 
leaving  Dublin  for  Bray.  Before  the  train  started 
a  woman,  whose  name  he  could  not  remember,  but 
whom  he  recognized  as  a  parishioner,  came  to  the 
door  and  said,  "  Father  James,  have  you  any  objection 
to  my  coming  in  here  ? "  "  Not  the  least,"  said  he. 
So  in  she  came,  and  sat  on  the  seat  opposite  to  him. 
Off  went  the  train  at  such  a  pace  as  he  had  never 
known  before ;  it  jumped  and  swayed  from  side  to 
side.  Father  H—  -  was  naturally  much  alarmed. 
The  woman,  observing  this,  said  to  him,  "  Don't  be 
the  least  unasy,  Father  James.  Sure  it's  my  Jim 
that's  driving ;  and  when  he  has  a  dhrop  taken,  it's 
him  that  can  make  her  walk." 


TORY  ISLAND  219 


CHAPTEE  XV 

Tory  Island:  its  king,  customs,  and  captive  —  William  Dargan: 
his  career  and  achievements  —  Agricultural  and  Industrial 
experiments  —  Bianconi,  the  carman  —  Sheridan  Knowles : 
his  absence  of  mind  —  Absent-minded  gentlemen  —  Legal 
complications  —  Judges  and  barristers  —  Lord  Norbury. 

IT  was  when  on  an  inspection  for  the  Irish  Light 
Board,  upwards  of  thirty  years  ago,  that  I  visited 
Tory  Island,  which  lies  well  out  in  the  Atlantic, 
some  seven  miles  off  the  extreme  north-west  corner 
of  Ireland.  The  cliffs,  on  the  north  of  the  island, 
are  very  fine ;  the  south,  where  we  landed,  is  flat. 
The  islanders,  with  very  few  exceptions,  spoke  only 
Irish.  Their  carts  had  no  wheels ;  they  were  what 
are  called  sleigh  carts,  the  shafts  being  prolonged 
till  they  touched  the  ground,  beyond  which  point 
they  were  turned  up,  and  had  a  sort  of  creel  laid 
on  them,  in  which  the  load  was  carried.  I  was 
very  anxious  to  see  the  famous  king  of  Tory  Island, 
of  whom  I  had  heard,  a  very  diminutive  man, 
almost  a  dwarf,  but  of  much  intelligence.  I  was, 
however,  disappointed,  as  his  Majesty  was  too  drunk 
to  give  an  audience  to  visitors.  He  had,  for  two 
days  previously,  been  in  bed  in  that  condition.  At 


220  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

the  time  of  my  visit  the  islanders  were  in  much 
anxiety  about  their  fuel,  as  their  turf  bog  was  all 
but  exhausted,  and  after  a  year  or  two  they  would 
have  no  turf.  I  hear  they  now  get  coal  by  a 
steamer,  on  her  voyage  from  the  Clyde  to  Sligo. 
I  was  told  that  some  of  the  priests  who  had  been 
stationed  on  the  island  had,  from  utter  loneliness, 
taken  to  imbibing  poteen  whisky  a  little  too  freely, 
thereby  causing  scandal,  and  that  the  bishop  had, 
for  a  time  at  least,  withdrawn  the  clergy  from  the 
island,  leaving  the  inhabitants  to  make  the  most  of 
the  ministrations  of  the  priest  of  the  parish  nearest 
to  them  on  the  main  land,  who  visited  them  from 
time  to  time  as  the  weather  permitted. 

In  the  south  and  west  of  Ireland  marriages 
amongst  the  peasantry,  with  rare  exceptions,  take 
place  during  Shrove-tide.  Many  of  the  people  think 
it  would  not  be  lucky  to  be  married  at  any  other 
time  of  the  year;  consequently  the  priest  always, 
when  it  was  possible,  visited  the  island  during  Shrove 
for  the  purpose  of  solemnizing  any  weddings  which 
had  been  arranged.  It,  however,  sometimes  hap- 
pened that  the  weather  was  so  stormy  for  weeks 
together  that  no  boat  could  approach  the  island,  so  it 
had  been  arranged  that,  when  this  occurred,  the  en- 
gaged couples  should  at  an  appointed  hour  assemble 
on  the  east  shore  of  the  island,  while  the  priest, 
standing  on  the  shore  of  the  main  land  opposite  to 


TORY  ISLAND  221 

them,  read  the  marriage  ceremony  across  the  water. 
As  soon  as  the  storm  abated  he  went  to  the  island 
and  did  whatever  more  was  necessary  to  render  the 
marriages  valid  in  the  eye  of  the  law  and  of  the 
Church.  I  cannot  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this,  though 
I  heard  it  from  a  very  trustworthy  man.  He  said 
the  young  people  were  not  considered  really  married 
till  after  the  visit  of  the  priest ;  but  that  they  liked 
to  be,  at  all  events,  partly  married  before  Shrove 
was  over. 

The  following  occurrence  I  know  took  place,  not 
more  than  eight  years  ago.  A  boat,  rowed  by  some 
Tory  islanders,  arrived  at  Gweedore,  which  is  about 
sixteen  miles  from  the  island,  in  quest  of  a  doctor, 
whom  they  found  and  brought  back  with  them  to 
Tory.  His  help  was  wanted  for  one  of  the  chief 
men  there,  who  was  very  ill.  The  doctor's  people 
expected  him  home  that  evening  or,  at  latest,  next 
morning ;  but  for  five  days  he  never  appeared.  His 
friends  and  patients  grew  uneasy  about  him,  they 
knew  it  was  not  the  weather  that  kept  him  from 
returning,  for  it  happened  to  be  particularly  fine; 
so  a  friend  of  mine,  and  some  others  rowed  off  to 
Tory  Island  to  seek  for  him.  There  they  found  him 
a  prisoner.  It  appears  that  immediately  after  his 
visit  the  sick  man  began  to  amend,  and  next  morning 
was  very  nearly  well;  but  the  islanders  were  so 
delighted  and  charmed  with  the  doctor  and  with  his 


222  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

wonderful  skill,  that  they  determined  to  keep  him 
permanently  with  them.  They  lodged  him  in  their 
best  house,  gave  him  the  best  food  they  had,  with 
whisky  unlimited;  and  nothing  he  could  say  w-ould 
induce  them  to  take  him  back  to  Gweedore.  His 
friends,  however,  rescued  him  and  brought  him 
safely  home. 

In  the  course  of  my  work  as  an  engineer,  amongst 
others  I  made  two  friends,  both  long  since  dead,  of 
whom  I  think  I  may  here  say  a  few  words.  They 
were  both  remarkable  men ;  both  self-made  men. 
The  one  was  William  Dargan,  the  great  Irish  rail- 
way contractor;  the  other  the  well-known  coach 
and  car  proprietor,  Charles  Bianconi. 

Dargan  was  the  son  of  a  tenant  farmer,  in  the 
county  of  Carlo w.  At  a  school  near  his  house  he 
received  a  sound  elementary  education,  and  from 
early  years  showed  special  aptitude  for  figures. 
After  leaving  school  he  obtained  a  subordinate 
appointment  —  that  of  timekeeper,  if  I  remember 
rightly  —  on  the  great  Holyhead  Road,  under 
Telford,  the  engineer.  His  intelligence,  and  the 
trust  which  he  inspired,  so  pleased  Telford  that  a 
few  years  later,  when  the  new  mail-coach  road  was 
about  to  be  made  from  Dublin  to  Howth  Harbour, 
from  whence  the  packets  carrying  the  mails  for 
London  were  to  start,  he  entrusted  to  Dargan  the 
superintendence  of  the  work.  So  satisfactory  was 


WILLIAM  DARGAN  223 

his  performance  of  his  duties  that,  on  the  completion 
of  the  road,  the  Treasury  granted  him  a  gratuity  of 
three  hundred  pounds  in  addition  to  his  salary. 
This  was  the  capital  upon  which  he  commenced 
his  career  as  a  contractor.  His  first,  or  almost  his 
first,  contract  was  for  an  embankment  on  the  river 
Shannon,  near  Limerick,  in  which  Lord  Monteagle 
and  Sir  Matthew  Barrington  were  interested ;  and 
so  struck  were  they  with  the  manner  in  which  he 
carried  out  the  work,  and  the  straightforwardness 
with  which  he  settled  his  accounts,  that  they  became 
through  life  his  fast  friends.  His  first  large  under- 
taking was  the  construction  of  the  railway  from 
Dublin  to  Kingstown,  which  was  begun  in  1831, 
and  was  the  first  passenger  railway  made  in  Ireland, 
and  the  second  in  the  Three  Kingdoms.  From  this 
time  forward  he  found  no  difficulty  in  obtaining 
large  contracts  in  every  part  of  Ireland.  He  had 
two,  amounting  together  to  over  a  million  sterling, 
with  the  Great  Southern  and  "Western  Railway 
Company  and  the  Midland  Company;  and  others 
which  in  those  days  were  considered  large,  with 
most  of  the  other  railway  companies  in  Ireland. 
I  have  settled  as  engineer  for  different  companies 
many  of  his  accounts,  involving  many  hundred 
thousand  pounds.  His  thorough  honesty,  his  will- 
ingness to  yield  a  disputed  point,  and  his  wonderful 
rapidity  of  decision,  rendered  it  a  pleasure,  instead 


224  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

of  a  trouble,  as  it  generally  is,  to  settle  these 
accounts ;  indeed,  in  my  life  I  have  never  met  a 
man  more  quick  in  intelligence,  more  clear  sighted, 
and  more  thoroughly  honourable. 

By  the  year  1849  he  had  amassed  a  large  fort- 
une, and  he  at  once  turned  his  attention  to  the 
manner  in  which  he  could  best  apply  it  in  benefiting 
his  country.  The  first  project  which  suggested  itself 
to  him  was  to  introduce  into  the  south  of  Ireland 
the  culture  of  flax,  which  had  rendered  the  north  so 
prosperous.  He  took  a  large  farm  near  Kildinan, 
some  ten  miles  north  of  Cork,  which  he  at  once  laid 
out  for  flax  cultivation,  and  on  which  he  erected 
scutch  mills.  He  then  offered  to  supply  all  the  farmers 
through  that  part  of  the  country  with  flax  seed  at 
his  own  expense,  and  to  purchase  their  crops  from 
them  at  the  current  market  price  in  Belfast,  and  this 
he  undertook  to  do  for  at  least  two  years.  Very  few 
farmers,  however,  accepted  his  offer  and  made  the 
experiment  even  in  the  first  year,  and  scarcely  any 
in  the  second,  and  the  project  became  a  total  failure. 
It  is  difficult  to  understand  why  this  should  have 
been  so,  unless  it  was  due  to  the  fear  that  the  flax 
crop  might  exhaust  the  land,  and  to  the  inveterate 
dislike  of  the  southern  farmers  to  try  any  new 
experiment ;  for  it  is  with  them  a  fixed  conviction 
that  it  is  best  for  them  to  go  on,  as  they  themselves 
express  it,  "  as  we  did  ever  and  always." 


AN  EXPERIMENT  225 

There  was  nothing  in  the  soil  or  climate  to  pre- 
vent the  successful  cultivation  of  flax,  for  though  its 
growth  in  the  south  of  Ireland  had  altogether  ceased 
for  many  years,  yet  I  can  remember  the  time  when 
every  farmer,  no  matter  how  small  his  holding,  had 
a  plot  of  flax,  from  which  all  the  linen  required  for 
his  household  was  manufactured,  the  spinning  being 
done  by  his  wife  and  daughters,  and  the  weaving  by 
the  local  weavers,  of  whom  there  were  then  numbers 
in  every  part  of  the  country. 

Dargan's  next  project  for  his  country's  good  was 
a  thoroughly  successful  one.  It  was  the  great 
Industrial  Exhibition  in  Dublin  in  the  year  1853, 
all  expenses  in  connection  with  which,  including  the 
erection  of  the  building  itself,  were  defrayed  by  him. 
It  was  opened  by  her  Majesty  the  Queen  and  the 
Prince  Consort,  who  came  to  Ireland  expressly  for 
the  purpose.  They  did  Dargan  the  honour  of  visit- 
ing him  and  Mrs.  Dargan  at  his  beautiful  residence, 
Mount  Anville,  a  few  miles  from  Dublin.  Her 
Majesty  wished  him  to  accept  a  baronetcy,  which 
he  declined,  at  the  same  time  expressing  his  grati- 
tude for  this  mark  of  her  Majesty's  approval.  The 
Queen  then  announced  to  him  her  intention  to  pre- 
sent him  with  a  bust  of  herself,  and  also  one  of  the 
Prince  Consort ;  and,  with  her  usual  thoughtful 
kindness,  desired  that  he  should  select  the  sculptor 
by  whom  they  were  to  be  executed.  He,  from  his 


226  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

friendship  for  the  man,  selected  Johnny  Jones,  of 
whom  I  have  already  said  much. 

His  next  project  was  the  establishment  of  a  great 
thread  factory  at  Chapelizod,  near  Dublin,  where 
he  purchased,  and  added  to,  large  mill  premises,  and, 
at  great  expense,  fitted  them  with  all  the  necessary 
machinery.  It  may  have  been  that  the  demand 
for  thread  was  sufficiently  supplied  by  the  English 
manufacturers;  but  whether  it  was  from  this  or 
from  other  causes,  the  undertaking  completely  failed. 

After  this  Dargan,  unfortunately  for  himself, 
threw  all  his  energies  into  the  Dublin,  Wicklow,  and 
Wexforcl  Railway,  in  which  he  invested  nearly  his 
whole  fortune,  and  of  which  he  became  chairman. 
In  connection  with  this  line  he  spent  large  sums  on 
the  improvement  of  Bray,  the  now  well-known  water- 
ing-place on  the  coast  about  midway  between  Dublin 
and  Wicklow.  He  built  the  Turkish  baths  (now  the 
assembly  rooms)  at  a  cost  of  £8000,  and  also  a 
handsome  terrace.  He  made  the  esplanade,  which 
has  since  been  secured  by  a  sea-wall  and  much 
improved  by  the  energetic  town  commissioners.  He 
also  aided  largely  in  providing  first-rate  hotel 
accommodation  there.  This  expenditure,  though 
large,  would  not  have  seriously  impaired  his  means 
had  the  railway  proved  as  successful  as  he  hoped 
it  would  have  done ;  but  the  great  depression  in 
railway  property,  which  began  about  that  time,  so 


DARGAN^S  MAXIMS  227 

lowered  the  value  of  all  his  investments  that  they 
for  a  time  became  of  little  worth  ;  and  this  remark- 
able man  (for  a  remarkable  man  he  was)  a  few  years 
later  died  comparatively  poor,  and,  to  use  his  own 
words,  "  of  a  broken  heart." 

I  had  almost  forgotten  to  mention  two  of  his 
favourite  maxims.  These  were  "  A  spoonful  of 
honey  will  catch  more  flies  than  a  gallon  of  vinegar," 
and  "  Never  show  your  teeth  unless  you  can  bite." 
On  these,  as  he  himself  often  told  me,  he  had  acted 
from  early  years,  and  it  was  to  them  that  he  attrib- 
uted much  of  his  success  in  life. 

There  is  a  statue  of  Dargan  by  Johnny  Jones 
in  front  of  the  National  Gallery  in  Dublin. 

Charles  Bianconi,  a  native  of  Tregolo,  a  village 
in  the  Duchy  of  Milan,  arrived  in  Ireland  in  1802, 
at  the  age  of  fifteen,  as  an  apprentice,  with  other 
Italian  boys,  to  one  Andrea  Faroni,  a  dealer  in 
prints  and  statuettes.  These  boys  were  employed 
in  travelling  about  the  country  selling  their  master's 
wares,  Bianconi's  district  lying  principally  in  the 
counties  of  Wexford  and  Waterford.  After  about 
two  years  he  left  Faroni  and  started  a  similar  busi- 
ness on  his  own  account.  In  1806  he  settled  in 
Carrick-on-Suir,  in  the  county  of  Tipperary,  and 
in  the  following  year  he  went  to  Clonmel. 

In  his  many  journeys  from  town  to  town  he 
often  felt  the  want  of  any  means  of  conveyance  for 


228  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

travellers,  the  only  public  vehicles  of  any  kind  being 
the  few  mail  and  stage  coaches  on  the  main  roads. 
In  1815  Bianconi  started  a  one-horse  stage  car,  car- 
rying six  passengers,  between  Clonmel  and  Cahir; 
and  the  experiment  was  so  successful  that  before 
the  end  of  the  year  he  had  several  similar  cars 
plying  between  different  towns  in  Tipperary  and 
Waterford.  This  business  prospered  to  such  an 
extent  that  by  the  year  1843  his  cars  —  many  of 
them  carrying  twenty  passengers  and  drawn  by  four 
horses  —  were  plying  from  market  town  to  market 
town  over  the  whole  south  and  west  of  Ireland  and 
a  considerable  portion  of  the  north.  It  was  on  some 
journey  on  one  of  these  cars  that  I  first  made  his 
acquaintance. 

They  were  well  known  throughout  Ireland  as 
Bianconi's  cars,  and  even  after  the  development  of 
railways  he  still  ran  his  cars  and  various  coaches 
to  the  different  railway  termini.  At  one  time  his 
vehicles  were  performing  journeys  daily  of  over 
four  thousand  miles  in  twenty-two  different  counties, 
and  he  used  to  frequently  boast,  to  the  credit  of  the 
peasantry,  that  no  injury  whatever  had  been  done  to 
any  of  his  property  in  all  these  districts. 

I  met  him  often  afterwards,  and  had  many 
opportunities  of  noticing  the  quick  intelligence 
which  had  led  to  his  success.  But  with  all  his 
cleverness  he  combined  a  kindness  and  simplicity  of 


SHERIDAN  KNOWLES  229 

character  rarely  met  with.  He  realized  a  fortune, 
and  purchased  an  estate  on  the  banks  of  the  Suir, 
in  the  county  of  Tipperary.  I  have  often  heard 
him  talk  of  the  struggles  of  his  early  days;  and 
he  used  to  delight  in  showing  to  his  guests  the  pack 
which  he  had  carried  when  selling  his  wares  as  a  boy. 
The  following  is  a  characteristic  letter,  written  in  his 
eighty-first  year,  and  the  last  I  ever  had  from  him :  — 

"Longfield,  10.  10.  '69. 
''MY  DEAR   SlR, 

"I  learn  with  great  pleasure  your  being  in  the  country, 
and  if  you  condescend  to  visit  a  carman's  stage,  I  will  drive 
you  from  this  to  Ballygriffin  (five  miles),  where  the  late  Sir 
Thomas  Fitzgerald,  pending  his  father's  lifetime,  supported 
himself  and  his  large  family  on  the  salmon  he  caught  in  that 
beautiful  spot,  and  which  is  strictly  preserved  by  yours 

"  Very  truly, 

"CHARLES  BIANCONI. 

"  W.  R.  Le  Fanu,  Esq. 

"And  we  will  bring  Morgan  John  O'Connell,  who  is  at 
present  at  home,  with  us." 

Another  friend  of  mine,  of  whom  I  saw  a  good 
deal  at  this  time,  was  Sheridan  Knowles,  the 
dramatist.  He  was  one  of  the  most  absent-minded 
I  ever  knew.  Mrs.  Norton  and  her  sister,  Lady 
Dufferin,  were  engaged  to  dine  with  him,  and  he  was 
in  the  evening  to  read  aloud  to  them  one  of  his  plays, 
which  he  had  just  finished.  When  the  day  came 
Knowles  forgot  all  about  it,  dined  early  with  his 


230  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

family,  as  his  custom  was,  and  was  just  sitting  down 
to  tea  at  eight  o'clock  when  his  two  guests  arrived. 
He  was  so  much  put  out  that  he  did  not  know  what 
to  say  or  do ;  but  they  were  so  pleasant  and  so  full 
of  fun,  that  they  soon  put  him  at  his  ease.  They 
protested  that  they  much  preferred  tea  to  dinner, 
and  before  they  Avent  praised  his  play  so  much  that 
he  was  as  happy  as  a  king. 

Some  time  afterwards  a  still  more  awkward 
incident  occurred.  He  was  walking  down  Regent 
Street  with  a  friend,  when  a  gentleman  stopped  him 
and  said  - 

"  You're  a  pretty  fellow,  Knowles." 

"  Why  ?    What  have  I  done  ?  "  said  Knowles. 

"  Only  kept  us  waiting  dinner  on  Wednesday 
from  half-past  seven  till  eight,  and  never  came." 

"  Good  heavens !  "  said  Knowles ;  "  I  forgot  all 
about  it.  Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  can  you  ever  forgive 
me?" 

"  I  can  and  will,"  said  the  other,  "  on  one 
condition  —  that  you  dine  with  me  at  half -past 
seven  next  Wednesday." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  friend ;  I  shall  be 
delighted." 

"  Don't  forget  —  half-past  seven,  Wednesday. 
Good-bye,"  said  the  gentleman,  and  off  he  went. 

Knowles,  in  much  excitement,  turned  to  his 
friend  and  said,  "  Isn't  this  absence  of  mind  a 


SHERIDAN  KNOWLES  231 

dreadful  calamity  ?  Just  think  of  my  having  kept 
that  dear  fello\v  and  his  family  waiting  for  me  in 
that  way  !  By-the-by,  do  you  know  who  he  was  ? " 

"  No,"  said  his  friend. 

"  By  Jove,  no  more  do  I ! "  said  Knowles,  and 
ran  after  the  man  as  fast  as  he  could  go.  But  he 
had  gone  so  far  that  Knowles  could  neither  see  nor 
catch  him. 

At  one  time  he  went  on  the  stage,  and  used  to 
act  in  his  own  plays  —  Virginius,  William  Tell,  and 
The  Huncliback.  One  night,  when  he  was  to  act 
The  Hunchback  in  Dublin,  I  went  into  his  dressing- 
room  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  and  found  him  in  a 
state  of  great  agitation. 

"Look  at  me,  William  —  look  at  me,"  said  he, 
stretching  out  his  right  leg,  on  which  was  a  red 
stocking  —  the  other  leg  was  bare. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  I  said. 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "isn't  an  actor's  a  fearful  life? 
The  other  stocking  is  lost.  The  overture  has  begun. 
I  must  put  on  black  stockings,  and  in  five  minutes 
go  on  the  stage  to  disgrace  myself.  The  part  was 
never  acted  in  black  stockings.  Oh !  like  a  dear 
fellow,  pull  off  this  red  one." 

This  I  did,  and  under  it  was  the  lost  one.  He 
had  put  the  two  on  one  leg ! 

One   evening   I  heard  his  daughters  sav  to  him 

o  o  t/ 

that  they  were  sure  that  a  Mr.  H ,  who  was  a 


232  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

constant  visitor  at  the  house,  had  false  whiskers. 
Knowles  was  indignant,  and  said  that  H—  -  was 
above  any  such  nonsense  as  that.  Half  an  hour 
later  H—  -  came  in.  Knowles  at  once  went  up  to 
him  and  said,  "My  dear  boy,  these  girls  of  mine 
have  been  taking  away  your  character.  They  say 
that  these  are  false."  As  he  said  this  he  took  hold 

of  one  of  H 's  whiskers,  which  came  off  in  his 

hand.  The  girls  flew  from  the  room,  leaving  their 
father  to  explain  as  best  he  could. 

Another  absent-minded  man  was  one  of  the 
Battersbys,  of  the  county  of  Meath.  On  a  very  wet 
day  he  came  into  my  office,  and,  as  he  was  going, 
put  on  his  hat  and  took  his  umbrella  in  his  hand. 
My  hat  and  umbrella  were  on  a  table  near  the  door. 
As  he  said  good-bye  to  me  he  took  up  my  umbrella, 
and  was  going  off  with  an  umbrella  in  each  hand. 
"  Wet  as  it  is,"  I  said, "  won't  you  find  two  umbrellas 
rather  too  much ? "  "A  thousand  pardons,"  he 
said.  "I'm  always  doing  these  absent  sort  of 
things."  He  put  down  my  umbrella  and  took  up 
my  hat,  and  was  walking  off  with  two  hats,  one 
on  his  head,  the  other  in  his  hand.  I  said,  "  I'm 
afraid  you'll  find  two  hats  as  inconvenient  as  two 
umbrellas." 

But  more  absent-minded  than  either  he  or 
Knowles  was  a  Mr.  Shaw  of  the  post-office  depart- 
ment in  Edinburgh,  who,  as  Professor  Rankin  told 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY  233 

me,  sometimes  forgot  his  own  name.  One  day,  as  he 
was  on  his  way  to  visit  Smith  of  Deanstone,.  he  met 
a  man  who  he  thought  was  an  acquaintance  of  his, 
and  put  out  his  hand  to  shake  hands  with  him. 

"I  do  not  think,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "I  have  the 
honour  of  your  acquaintance." 

"  Oh,  indeed  you  have,"  said  Shaw.  "  Don't  you 
know  me?  I'm  Smith  of  Deanstone." 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  the  other,  "  I  do  not  know  you." 

Shaw  had  not  gone  many  paces,  when  it  flashed 
across  his  mind  that  he  had  said  the  wrong  name. 
He  ran  after  the  man,  overtook  him,  and,  giving  him 
a  slap  on  the  back,  said,  "What  an  ass  I  am!  I'm 
not  Smith  of  Deanstone;  I'm  Shaw  of  the  post-office." 

"  I  don't  care  a  d n  who  you  are,  sir ;  but  I 

wish  you'd  let  me  alone,"  said  the  other. 

An  intimate  friend  of  Knowles  was  Young,  the 
well-known  actor.  We  went  to  see  him  taking  his 
farewell  of  the  Dublin  audience.  It  was  said  that 
the  reason  for  his  retirement  was  that  he  had  mar- 
ried a  rich  widow — a  Mrs.  Winterbottom  —  whose 
name  he  was  reported  to  have  taken.  On  this  fare- 
well night  he  was  acting  his  favourite  part,  "  Zanga," 
in  The  Revenge.  His  opening  speech  began  in  this 
way:  '"Tis  twice  ten  years  since  that  great  man— 
great  let  me  call  him,  for  he  conquered  me — made 
me  the  prisoner  of  his  arm  in  fight.  He  slew  my 
father  and  threw  chains  o'er  me.  I  then  was 


234  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

young."  Here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  voice  from 
the  gallery  crying  out,  "  And  now  you're  Winter- 
bottom."  I  do  not  think  he,  in  fact,  took  the  name, 
for  I  met  him  years  after  still  "  Young." 

Once  I  heard  an  amusing  mistake  in  a  name.  As 
I  walked  up  Whitehall  with  Sir  Matthew  Barrington 
and  a  Mr.  Jeffers,  Fonblanque  passed  by  and  nodded 
to  me.  "Do  you  know  who  that  was?"  said  Sir 
Matthew  to  Jeffers.  "No,"  said  Jeffers.  "Who 
was  he ? "  "A  remarkable  man,"  said  Sir  Matthew. 
"  That  is  Blanc-mange  of  the  Examiner?  "  No, 
no,"  said  I  —  "  Fonblanque."  "  Oh,  of  course !"  said 
Sir  M. ;  "  but  I  never  can  remember  names." 

The  well-known  Irish  judge,  the  late  Judge  B , 

was  neither  absent-minded  nor  forgetful  of  names, 
but  had  a  peculiarity  of  his  own ;  this  was  that  he 
constantly  misunderstood,  or  pretended  to  misunder- 
stand, what  witnesses  examined  before  him  said. 
Many  are  the  stories  told  of  him,  amongst  others 
the  following :  — 

At  the  Kildare  Assizes  at  Naas  a  serious  assault 
case  was  tried.  Two  men  had  quarrelled  in  a  hay- 
field,  where  they  were  mowing,  and  one  of  them 
had  nearly  killed  the  other.  A  witness  was  asked 
how  the  quarrel  began.  He  said  that  Cassidy  had 
called  Murphy  a  liar,  and  that  then  Murphy  hit 
Cassidy  with  a  scythe-board. 

"Stop  a  moment;  let  me  understand,"  said  the 


A  PAINSTAKING  JUDGE  235 

judge.     "  Did  Murphy  lift  up  a  sideboard  and  bit 
Cassidy  with  it  ? " 

Witness.  "  He  did,  my  lord." 

Judge.  "How  did  it  happen  that  there  was  a 
sideboard  out  in  the  field  ? " 

Witness.  "  We  does  always  have  them  there,  my 
lord,  when  we  do  be  mowing." 

Judge.  "  For  what  purpose?  " 

Witness.  "  To  sharpen  our  scythes,  my  lord." 

Counsel  then,  with  some  difficulty,  made  the  judge 
understand  that  the  witness  meant  a  scythe-board, 
and  not  a  sideboard. 

Another  case  was  one  in  which  a  man  was  indicted 
for  robbery  at  the  house  of  a  poor  widow.  The  first 
witness  was  her  young  daughter,  who  identified  the 
prisoner  as  the  man  who  had  come  into  the  house 
and  broken  her  mother's  chest. 

Judge.  "  Do  you  say  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
broke  your  mother's  chest  ? " 

Witness.  "  He  did,  my  lord.  He  jumped  on  it  till 
he  smashed  it  entirely." 

Judge  (to  Counsel}.  "How  is  this?  "Why  is  not 
the  prisoner  indicted  for  murder?  If  he  smashed 
this  poor  woman's  chest,  in  the  way  the  witness  has 
described,  he  must  surely  have  killed  her." 

Counsel.  "My  lord,  it  was  a  wooden  chest." 

In  the  north  of  Ireland  the  peasantry  pronounce 
the  word  witness  "  wetness."  At  Derry  Assizes  a 


236  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

man  said  he  had  brought  his  "wetness"  with  him 
to  corroborate  his  evidence. 

"  Bless  me,"  said  the  judge,  "  about  what  age  are 
you?" 

Witness.  "  Forty-two  my  last  birthday,  my  lord." 
Judge.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell   the  jury  that  at 
that  age  you  still  have  a  wet  nurse  ? " 
Witness.  "  Of  course  I  have,  my  lord." 
Counsel  hereupon  interposed  and  explained. 
Another  case  was  also  in  the  north  where  "  mill " 
is  often  pronounced  "  mull."     The  point  at  issue  was 
whether  a  mill  had   been  burned  accidentally  or 
maliciously.     Dowse   (afterwards  Baron  Dowse),  as 
counsel  for  the  miller,  was  trying  to  show  that  it 
must   have   been   burnt  maliciously,   and   that   the 
contention  of  the  opposite  side,  that  it  was  an  accident 
caused  by  the  machinery  becoming  over-heated,  was 
untenable.     He  asked   a  witness   whether   he  had 
happened  to  feel  the  gudgeons  (part  of  the  machinery) 
before  he  left  the  place. 
Witness.  "  I  did,  sir." 
Dowse.  "  In  what  state  were  they  ? " 
Witness.  "  Perfectly  cool." 

Judge.  "  I  want  to  understand,  Mr.  Dowse,  what 
gudgeons  are  ? " 

Dowse.  "  Little  fishes,  my  lord." 

Judge.  "  Then  of  course  they  were  cool." 

Dowse  (to   Witness).   "  In    what    state   were    the 


"A  MULL"  237 

premises  and  the  machinery  that  evening  when  you 
left?" 

Witness.  "  All  the  machinery  was  perfectly  right 
and  cool,  and  the  whole  mull  was  as  right  as  a 
trivet." 

Judge.  "  Stop  a  moment ;  this  is  the  first  time  we 
have  heard  of  the  mull.  What  is  a  mull,  Mr. 
Dowse?" 

Dowse.  "  What  you  are  making  of  this  case,  my 
lord." 

Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  of  all  the  stories 
told  of  this  judge  is  the  following.  At  the  assizes 
at  Clonmel,  several  men  were  indicted  for  man- 
slaughter. The  evidence  went  to  show  that  all  the 
prisoners  had  been  in  the  fight  against  the  man  who 
had  been  killed.  A  witness  was  asked  whether  he 
could  swear  that  the  prisoner,  Pat  Eyan,  had  done 
anything  to  the  deceased  man.  "  Yes,"  he  said, 
"  when  poor  Ned  Sullivan  was  lying  on  the  ground, 
welthering  in  his  blood,  Pat  Kyan  came  up  and  gave 
him  a  wipe  of  a  clay  alpin  on  the  back  of  his  head." 
The  prisoners  were  convicted,  and  heavy  sentences 
passed  on  all  except  Pat  Ryan,  whom  the  judge 
addressed  in  these  words  — 

"Your  case,  Patrick  Ryan,  the  court  has  taken 
into  its  merciful  consideration,  for  though  you  were 
one  of  the  party  engaged  in  this  terrible  affair  in 
which  Sullivan  lost  his  life,  it  appears  that  towards 


238  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

the  end  of  the  fight  you  were  moved  with  com- 
passion, for  it  has  been  distinctly  proved  by  one  of 
the  witnesses  for  the"  prosecution,  that  when  the 
unfortunate  man  was  lying  on  the  ground,  bleeding 
from  his  wounds,  you  came  behind  him  and  wiped 
his  head  with  a  clean  napkin." 

He  would  have  proceeded  to  pass  a  much  lighter 
sentence  on  Ryan  than  he  had  passed  on  the  others 
had  he  not  been  stopped  by  counsel,  who  explained 
to  him  that  a  clay  alpin  is  a  heavy  loaded  strick,  and 
that  the  "  wipe "  which  Ryan  had  given  Sullivan 
with  it  was  in  all  probability  his  death-blow. 

Many  are  the  stories  I  have  heard  of  judges  and 
barristers  in  former  days.  Though  some  of  them 
are  well  known,  I  shall  venture  to  give  a  few  which 
may  be  new  to  my  readers.  One  of  the  best  was 
connected  with  a  case  tried  (in  Limerick,  I  think) 
before  Chief  Baron  O'Grady.  Bushe  was  making 
a  speech  for  the  defence,  when  an  ass  began  to  bray 
loudly  outside  the  court.  "Wait  a  moment,"  said 
the  Chief  Baron.  "  One  at  a  time,  Mr.  Bushe,  if 
you  please."  When  O'Grady  was  charging  the 
jury,  the  ass  again  began  to  bray,  if  possible  more 
loudly  than  before.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord," 
said  Bushe,  "  may  I  ask  you  to  repeat  your  last 
words  ;  there  is  such  an  echo  in  this  court  I  did  not 
quite  catch  them." 

Of  Lord  Norbury,  the  hanging  judge,  it  was  said 


ON  HIS  OATH  239 

that  he  was  only  once  in  his  life  known  to  shed 
tears,  and  that  was  at  the  theatre,  at  The  Beggar's 
Opera,  when  the  reprieve  arrives  for  Captain 
Macheath. 

"When  the  income  tax  was  about  to  be  extended 
to  Ireland,  John  Ryan,  reader  to  the  Court  of 
Chancery,  a  very  stingy  old  gentleman,  was  very 
much  excited  about  it.  "  But,"  said  he  to  a  friend, 
"  how  will  they  find  out  what  my  income  is  ? " 
"  You'll  be  put  on  your  oath  to  declare  it,  Mr. 
Ryan,"  said  his  friend.  "  Oh,  will  they  leave  it  to 
my  oath  ?  "  said  Ryan,  and  walked  off  in  high  glee. 

"Witnesses  try  in  various  ways  to  avoid  taking 
what  they  consider  a  binding  oath.  A  favourite  plan 
supposed  to  relieve  them  from  all  obligation  is,  when 
being  sworn,  to  kiss  the  thumb  instead  of  kissing  the 
book.  Before  Baron  Pennefather,  at'  Tralee  Assizes, 
a  witness  did  so.  One  of  the  counsel  said,  "  The 
witness  kissed  his  thumb,  my  lord."  "  Why  did  the 
witness  kiss  his  thumb?"  asked  the  baron.  ''He  is 
blind  of  an  eye,  my  lord,"  replied  Mr.  Hurley,  the 
clerk  of  the  Crown. 


240  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Irish  bulls  —  Sayings  of  Sir  Boyle  Roche  —  Plutarch's  Lives  — 
A  Grand  Jury's  decision  —  Clerical  anecdotes  and  biblical 
difficulties  —  A  harmless  lunatic  —  Dangerous  recruits  — 
Tom  Burke  —  Some  memorials  to  the  Board  of  Works. 

OF  Irish  bulls  there  is  no  end.  Some  have  become 
household  words,  as,  for  example,  Sir  Boyle  Roche's : 
"  A  man  couldn't  be  in  two  places  at  once,  barring 
he  was  a  bird."  There  are  others  of  his  not  so  well 
known. 

In  the  Irish  House  of  Commons  in  1795,  during 
a  debate  on  the  leather  tax,  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,  Sir  'John  Parnell,  observed  "  that  in  the 
prosecution  of  the  present  war,  every  man  ought 
to  be  ready  to  give  his  last  guinea  to  protect  the 
remainder." 

Mr.  Vandeleur  said  that  "  however  that  might  be, 
a  tax  on  leather  would  press  heavily  on  the  bare- 
footed peasantry  of  Ireland."  To  which  Sir  Boyle 
Roche  replied  that  this  could  be  easily  removed  by 
making  the  under  leathers  of  wood. 

In  speaking  in  favour  of  the  Union,  he  said  that  one 
of  its  effects  would  be  "  that  the  barren  hills  would 
become  fertile  valleys." 


IRISH  BULLS  241 

In  another  debate  he  said,  "  I  boldly  answer  in  the 
affirmative.  No ! " 

In  mentioning  the  Cape,  he  said  that  "  myrtles 
were  so  common  there,  that  they  make  birch  brooms 
of  them." 

I  am  not  sure  whether  it  was  he  who  in  one  of  his 
speeches  said,  "You  should  refrain  from  throwing 
open  the  flood-gates  of  democracy  lest  you  should 
pave  the  way  for  a  general  conflagration." 

He  once  mentioned  some  people  who  "  were  living 
from  hand  to  mouth  like  the  birds  of  the  air." 

Sir  Eichard  Steele,  another  well-known  Irishman, 
was  asked  by  an  English  friend  how  it  was  that 
Irishmen  were  so  remarkable  for  making  bulls.  "  I 
believe,"  said  he,  "  it  is  something  in  the  air  of  the 
country ;  and  I  dare  say  if  an  Englishman  was  born 
here,  he  would  do  the  same." 

Tom  Moore  used  to  tell  a  story  that  when  he  was 
staying,  as  a  boy,  with  an  uncle  at  Sandymount,  as 
they  walked  into  Dublin  early  one  morning,  they 
found  a  dead  highwayman  lying  on  the  road,  who 
had  evidently  been  shot  during  the  night  by  some 
one  whom  he  had  attacked.  There  was  a  small 
bullet-hole  in  his  right  temple.  An  old  woman  was 
looking  at  him.  "  Gentlemen,"  said  she,  "  isn't  it 
the  blessing  of  God  it  didn't  hit  him  in  the  eye." 
This  is  mentioned  in  some  life  of  Moore. 

Some  people  were  laughing  at  an  Irishman  who 


242  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

won  a  race  for  saying,  "  Well,  I'm  first  at  last." 
"  You  needn't  laugh,"  said  he ;  "  sure,  wasn't  I 
behind  before?" 

The  following  conversation  was  heard  in  the 
Fenian  times  some  years  ago :  — 

Tom.   "  These  are  terrible  times,  Bill." 

Bill.  "  Bedad,  they  are,  Tom ;  it's  a  wondher  if 
we'll  get  out  of  the  world  alive." 

Tom.  "  I'm  afeard  we  won't,  even  if  we  had  as 
many  lives  as  Plutarch." 

Bill.  "  If  Oliver  Cromwell  could  only  come  up 
out  of  hell,  he'd  soon  settle  it." 

Tom.  "  Bedad,  maybe  he'd  rather  stop  where  he 
is." 

In  the  coffee-room  at  an  hotel  in  Dublin  an  Irish 
gentleman  said  to  a  friend  who  was  breakfasting 
with  him,  "I'm  sure  that  is  my  old  college  friend 
West  at  that  table  over  there."  "  Then  why  don't 
you  go  over  and  speak  to  him?"  said  his  friend. 
"I'm  afraid  to,"  said  the  other;  "for  he  is  so  very 
shy,  that  he  would  feel  quite  awkward  if  it  wasn't 
he." 

It  was  Caulfield,  an  Irishman  who  succeeded 
Marshall  Wade  as  manager  of  roads  in  Scotland, 
who  wrote  and  posted  up  in  the  Highlands  the 
famous  lines  — 

"  Had  you  seen  these  roads  before  they  were  made, 
You'd  lift  up  your  hands  and  bless  Marshall  Wade." 


IRISH  BULLS  243 

About  seventy  years  ago  the  grand  jury  of  the 
county  of  Tipperary  passed  the  following  resolu- 
tions :  — 

"  1st.    That  a  new  court  house  shall  be  built. 

"  2nd.  That  the  materials  of  the  old  court  house 
be  used  in  building  the  new  court  house. 

"  3rd.  That  the  old  court  house  shall  not  be  taken 
down  till  the  new  court  house  is  finished." 

Here  is  a  bull,  or  rather  a  mixed  metaphor,  which 
appeared  in  an  English  newspaper.  In  a  leading 
article  in  the  Morning  Post,  in  1812,  occurs  the 
following  passage  :  —  "  We  congratulate  ourselves 
most  on  having  torn  off  Cobbett's  mask  and  revealed 
his  cloven  foot.  It  was  high  time  that  the  hydra- 
head  of  faction  should  be  soundly  rapped  over  the 
knuckles." 

It  was  a  Scotchman  —  Professor  Wilkie,  I  think  — 
who  said  to  a  boy  whom  he  met,  "  I  was  sorry  to 
hear  that  there  was  fever  in  your  family  last  spring. 
Was  it  you  or  your  brother  that  died  of  it  ? "     "  It 
was  me,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 

A  barrister  defending  a  prisoner  in  Limerick  said, 
"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  think  of  his  poor  mother  — 
his  only  mother." 

The  following  was  told  me  many  years  ago. 
Some  young  fellows  in  the  navy  shaved  the  head  of 
a  brother  officer,  an  Irishman,  when  he  was  drunk, 
and  put  him  to  bed.  He  had  previously  given 


244  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

orders  that  he  was  to  be  called  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  was  accordingly  called  at  that  hour.  "When 
he  looked  in  the  glass  and  saw  an  appearance  so 
unlike  what  he  expected,  "  Hang  me,"  said  he,  "  if 
they  haven't  called  the  wrong  man  ! " 

The  present  County  Surveyor  of  Cork,  Mr. 
Kirkby,  is  a  graduate  of  Cambridge,  and  sometimes 
writes  "  M. A.  Cantab "  after  his  name.  At  Road 
Sessions  a  rate-payer  said  to  another,  "That  Mr. 
Kirkby  must  be  a  very  clever  chap,  for  sure  he  is  a 
Cantab  of  Oxford." 

A  neighbour  of  mine  said  that  a  very  fine  horse  he 
had  bought  a  few  days  previously  had  gone  lame. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ? "  asked  a  Mr.  T . 

"I  am  greatly  afraid  he  has  got  the  vernacular," 
said  he  (of  course  he  meant  navicular).  "  Dear  me ! " 

said  T ,  "  I  never  heard  of  any  quadruped  having 

that  disease,  except  Balaam's  ass." 

As  I  have  given  some  stories  of  the  Bench  and 
Bar,  it  would  be  scarcely  fair  to  ignore  the  Church, 
so  I  shall  insert  a  few  anecdotes  of  clergymen. 

My  father,  arrayed  in  knee-breeches,  shovel  hat, 
and  apron,  was  walking  home  in  a  hard  frost  one 
Sunday  afternoon  from  the  Chapel  Royal,  at  Dublin 
Castle,  where  he  had  preached.  As  he  went  along 
the  footway  round  St.  Stephen's  Green,  where  in 
frosty  weather  boys  always  make  slides,  he  acci- 
dentally got  on  one,  slid  along  it,  and  came 


QUEER  SERMONS  245 

down  on  his  knees,  bursting  his  inexpressibles.  An 
old  woman  who  was  passing  addressed  him  in  these 
words :  "  Isn't  it  a  shame  for  you,  you  old  black- 
guard, to  be  making  slides  to  knock  decent  people 
down  ?  It's  what  you  ought  to  be  tuck  up  by  the 
police." 

I  told  this  story  to  Thackeray,  and  shortly  after- 
wards saw  a  little  drawing  in  Punch  illustrating  it. 

Many  years  ago,  in  St.  Catherine's  Church,  in 
Dublin,  I  heard  a  sermon  preached  by  a  Mr.  Cogh- 
lan,  a  queer-looking,  fat  old  man,  with  a  very  round 
red  face,  and  snow-white  hair.  He  had  been  speak- 
ing on  the  virtue  of  charity,  and  ended  his  discourse 
thus :  "  And  now  I  implore  each  one  of  you  to  put 
to  himself  or  herself  this  vital  question,  'Am  I  in 
love  ? '  "  then,  after  a  pause,  and  turning  to  the  right, 
"Am  I  in  love ? "  then  turning  to  the  left,  "  Am  I  in 
love  —  and  charity  with  all  men?"  But  before  he 
came  to  "  charity  with  all  men  "  there  went  a  very 
audible  titter  through  the  congregation. 

Of  the  same  sort  was  the  sermon  of  an  old  gentle- 
man, formerly  curate  of  St.  Mark's  parish  in  Dublin. 
He  was  preaching  on  the  final  separation  of  the  bad 
from  the  good,  and  had  taken  for  his  text,  "He  shall 
set  the  sheep  on  His  right  hand,  the  goats  on  the 
left."  He  finished  his  sermon  in  the  following 
words :  "  And  now,  my  beloved  brethren,  I  beseech 
each  and  every  one  of  you,  rich  and  poor,  young  and 


246  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

old,  man  and  woman,  before  you  go  to  bed  this 
night,  to  put  to  yourselves  this  all-important  ques- 
tion, '  Am  I  a  sheep,  or  am  I  a  goat  ? ' ' 

My  friend,  the  Rev.  "W.  F.  Boyle,  told  me  that 
when  speaking  to  a  boy,  whom  he  found  herding 
pigs  in  a  field,  on  the  impropriety  of  never  attending 
Sunday  school,  he  waxed  quite  eloquent  in  his  ad- 
monitions, and  thought  from  the  earnest  look  in  the 
boy's  eyes  that  he  had  made  a  deep  impression.  He 
paused  for  a  reply,  when  the  boy  said,  "  Well,  your 
raverence,  pigs  is  the  divil  for  rootin'."  The  earnest 
look,  which  Boyle  had  mistaken  for  attention  to  his 
advice,  was  in  reality  fixed  on  some  of  his  pigs 
which  were  rooting  in  a  far-off  corner  of  the  field. 

Something  of  the  same  kind  happened  to  the  late 
Cardinal  Cullen,  who,  when  taking  a  walk  by  him- 
self in  the  country  one  Sunday  afternoon,  saw  a  boy 
in  a  field  holding  a  goat  by  a  rope,  when  the  follow- 
ing dialogue  took  place :  — 

Cardinal.    "  Were  you  at  Mass  to-day,  my  boy  ? " 

Boy.   "  No,  I  wasn't." 

Cardinal.    "Why  not?" 

Boy.    "  I  was  houlding  the  goat." 

Cardinal.   "  Were  you  at  Mass  last  Sunday  ? " 

Boy.   "  No,  I  wasn't." 

Cardinal.   "  Do  you  ever  go  to  Mass  at  all  ? " 

Boy.  "No,  I  don't.  Don't  I  tell  you  I  do  be 
houlding  the  goat  ? " 


SHAVING    WITH  SHERRY  247 

Cardinal.  "  But  couldn't  you  sometimes  get  some 
one  else  to  hold  it  ?  " 

Boy.  "No,  I  couldn't.  You  don't  know  that 
goat.  The  divil  couldn't  hould  that  goat;  you 
couldn't  hould  that  goat  yourself." 

A  clergyman  in  the  county  of  Clare,  much  given 
to  drawing  the  long  bow,  had  quarrelled  with  the 
squire  of  the  parish,  on  whose  land  was  the  best  well 
in  the  country.  One  very  dry  summer,  fifty  years 
ago,  all  the  other  streams  and  wells  in  that  part  of 
the  country  were  dried  up,  and  the  poor  clergyman 
could  get  water  nowhere,  and  said  to  a  friend,  "  You 
can  fancy  the  straits  I  am  put  to ;  last  Sunday 
morning  I  had  to  shave  with  sherry." 

o  v 

The  late  Archdeacon  Russell  had  a  very  noisy 
servant,  whom  he  was  obliged  often  to  correct  for 
the  noise  she  made  at  her  work.  Very  early  one 
morning  as  he  was  coming  downstairs,  there  was  a 
great  clattering  in  the  drawing-room,  and  he  heard 
the  servant  saying,  "  Bad  luck  to  you !  you're  the 
noisest  fire-irons  I  ever  handled." 

A  strange  parson,  officiating  in  a  country  church 
in  the  absence  of  the  rector,  to  his  horror  saw  the 
gentleman  who  had  handed  the  plate,  when  return- 
ing it  to  him,  slip  a  half-crown  off  and  put  it  into 
his  waistcoat  pocket.  Immediately  after  the  service 
he  told  the  sexton  to  request  the  gentleman  to  come 
to  him  to  the  vestry  room.  When  he  came  he  said 


248  SEVENTY   YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

to  him,  "  Sir,  I  never  was  so  shocked  and  pained  in 
my  life.  I  distinctly  saw  you,  sir,  abstract  a  half- 
crown  from  the  plate  and  put  it  into  your  pocket." 
"  Of  course  you  did,"  replied  the  man ;  "  here  it  is. 
I  always  do  so.  You  see  when  I  get  the  plate,  before 
I  begin  to  hand  it  round,  I  always  place  a  half- 
crown  on  it,  in  order  to  induce  people  to  give  more 
than  they  otherwise  would,  and  I  afterwards  remove 
it  as  you  saw  me  do." 

When  I  was  a  boy  I  recollect  my  father  coming 
home  and  telling  us  of  an  old  lady  he  had  been  visit- 
ing, who,  just  as  he  came  into  the  room,  stirred  the 
fire,  by  which  she  was  sitting,  and  sent  a  cloud  of 
sparks  up  the  chimney.  "  Ay,  ay,"  she  said,  " '  man 
is  born  unto  trouble,  as  the  sparks  fly  upwards ; ' 
though  indeed,  sir,  I  never  could  see  what  trouble 
the  sparks  have  in  flying  upwards." 

I  am  not  sure  whether  it  was  the  same  lady  who 
asked  a  clergyman  how  it  was  that  Solomon  was 
permitted  to  have  seven  hundred  wives,  not  to  men- 
tion the  three  hundred  other  ladies.  He  explained 
to  her  that  the  manners  and  customs  of  those  times 
were  quite  different  from  those  of  the  present  day. 
"Dear  me,"  she  said,  "what  privileges  those  early 
Christians  had ! " 

There  was  an  old  blind  lady  in  Dublin  who  used 
to  have  a  little  girl  to  read  aloud  to  her.  She  was 
reading  that  part  of  the  Book  of  Exodus  where  the 


WITTY  PRIESTS  249 

building  of  the  tabernacle  is  described.  In  reading 
the  verse  which  says  the  roof  is  to  be  covered  with 
badger's  skins,  the  girLread  aloud,  "And  a  covering 
of  beggar's  skins."  "What  did  you  say,  child?" 
said  the  old  lady.  "Beggar's  skins,  ma'am,"  said 
the  girl.  "Oh  dear!  oh  dear!"  said  the  old  lady, 
"weren't  those  terrible  times  when  it  was  just  'up 
with  the  beggar  and  off  with  his  skin ' ! " 

There  are  many  stories  of  the  witty  priests  in  old 
times ;  I  shall  only  mention  two. 

A  farmer  asked  the  well-known  Father  Tom 
Maguire  what  a  miracle  was.  He  gave  him  a  very 
full  explanation^  which,  however,  did  not  seem  quite 
to  satisfy  the  farmer,  who  said  — 

"Now,  do  you  think,  your  raverence,  you  could 
give  me  an  example  of  miracles  ? " 

"Well,"  said  Father  Tom,  "walk  on  before  me, 
and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

As  he  did  so  he  gave  him  a  tremendous  kick  behind. 

"  Did  you  feel  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why  wouldn't  I  feel  it  ? "  said  the  farmer,  rub- 
bing the  damaged  place.  "  Begorra,  I  did  feel  it, 
sure  enough." 

"  Well,"  said  Father  Tom,  "  it  would  be  a  miracle 
if  you  didn't." 

Curran  said  to  Father  O'Leary  (the  wittiest  priest 
of  his  day),  "  I  wish  you  were  St.  Peter."  "  Why  ? " 
asked  O'Leary.  "Because,"  said  Curran,  "you 


250  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

would  have  the  keys  of  heaven,  and  could  let  me 
in."  "It  would  be  better  for  you,"  said  O'Leary, 
"  that  I  had  the  keys  of  the.  other  place,  for  then  I 
could  let  you  out." 

In  catechising  a  little  girl  the  clergyman  asked 
her  "  What  is  the  outward  and  visible  sign  in  bap- 
tism ? "  "  The  babby,  please,  sir,"  said  she. 

Another  on  being  asked  what  an  epistle  was,  said, 
"  The  feminine  of  an  apostle." 

A  short  time  ago  a  lady  told  me  that  in  examin- 
ing her  class  of  boys  in  Bray,  she  asked  one  of  them 
what  John  the  Baptist  meant  by  "  fruits  meet  for 
repentance."  He  answered,  "  Apples  and  nuts,  hams, 
gams,  and  pigs'  cheeks."  She  was  angry  with  him, 
thinking  he  was  making  fun;  but  on  questioning 
him  she  found  he  was  quite  serious,  and  thought 
that  the  Baptist  meant  that  they  were  to  bring  him 
fruits  and  meat  to  show  their  repentance  (as  he  was 
rather  tired  of  locusts  and  wild  honey),  and  the 
fruits  and  meats  best  known  to  the  boy  were  those 
he  mentioned. 

A  clergyman  explaining  to  some  boys  the  passage 
in  Scripture,  "  It  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through 
the  eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  into 
the  kingdom  of  God,"  told  them  that  this  very  strong 
expression  was  meant  to  show  extreme  difficulty, 
"  for  you  know  it  would  be  quite  impossible  for  a 
camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle."  "  Of 


A  HUNGRY  LUNATIC  251 

course  it  would,  sir,  on  account  of  its  humps,"  said 
one  of  the  boys. 

In  connection  with  the  Board  of  "Works  I  held  the 
office  of  Commissioner  of  Control  of  Lunatic  Asylums 
in  Ireland.  On  my  first  visit  to  Mullingar  Asylum 
I  was  accompanied  by  Doctor  Nugent  (now  Sir  John 
Nugent),  also  a  commissioner.  As  we  went  through 
the  house,  with  the  resident  doctor,  we  saw  in  the 
day  room,  amongst  other  patients,  a  pleasing  looking 
elderly  man,  on  each  of  whose  legs  was  a  hay  rope 
wound  above,  below,  and  round  the  knee.  On  our 
entering  the  room  he  said  - 

"  Gentlemen,  I  understand  you  are  here  on  behalf 
of  the  Government.  If  so,  I  have  a  very  serious 
complaint  to  make." 

We  asked  him  what  it  was. 

"  It  is,"  said  he,  u  that  for  the  last  three  days  I 
have  had  nothing  to  eat." 

The  doctor  called  up  the  principal  attendant,  a 
large,  fresh-looking  young  man.  We  asked  him 
whether  this  was  true. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  the  gentleman  gets  as  much 
as  any  one  in  the  house,  and  has  a  great  appetite." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  our  friend,  "  I  admit  that  I  have 
a  good  appetite ;  but  it  is  worse  than  useless  to  me, 
while  this  chubby,  rosy-cheeked  rascal  eats  every- 
thing I  am  supposed  to  get.  Just  look  at  him,  gen- 
tlemen ;  see  how  fat  he  is  growing  on  my  food." 


252  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "come  to  tea  with  me 
this  evening,  and  you  shall  have  plenty  of  tea  and 
cake  and  bread  and  butter." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  doctor  ? "  said  he. 

"  I  am,  indeed,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Then,  gentlemen,"  said  our  friend,  "  I  have  much 
pleasure  in  withdrawing  the  charge  I  have  made." 

The  poor  man  had  been  a  Roman  Catholic  priest, 
and  was  continually  at  his  devotions,  and  tied  the 
hay  ropes  (suggauns)  round  his  legs,  to  save  his 
trousers  from  being  worn  out  by  the  constant  kneel- 
ing, lie  was  perfectly  harmless,  and  before  the  fol- 
lowing Christmas  was  allowed  out  of  the  asylum  to 
live  with  his  brother,  who  held  a  large  farm,  and  who 
had,  amongst  other  things,  a  peculiar  and  valuable 
breed  of  turkeys,  of  which  he  was  proud.  lie  had 
twenty-two  of  them,  and  on  Christmas  morning,  on 
going  into  the  fowl-house,  he  found  every  one  of 
them  dead.  On  inquiry,  his  brother  confessed  that 
he  had  got  up  very  early  in  the  morning  and  cut  off 
their  heads,  as  he  thought  they  were  to  be  cooked 
for  the  Christmas  dinner.  lie  had  no  opportunity 
of  doing  further  damage  on  the  farm,  as  he  was  at 
once  sent  back  to  the  asylum. 

The  following  I  heard  from  Sir  John  Nugent. 
During  the  Crimean  War  a  considerable  sum  as 
bounty  was  given  to  recruits  on  enlisting.  A  re- 
cruiting sergeant  one  morning  enlisted  two  men  in 


LUNATIC  RECRUITS  253 

Queen  Street  in  Dublin,  gave  them  their  bounty,  and 
repaired  with  them  to  the  Royal  Oak  public-house 
on  the  Quays,  where  they  spent  their  money  like 
men,  drinking,  and  treating  every  soldier  who  came 
in.  In  the  afternoon,  when  all  the  bounty  was 
expended,  the  sergeant  told  them  that  they  were 
now  to  go  with  him  to  the  Royal  Barracks. 

"  But,"  said  one  of  them,  "  maybe  you  don't  know 
what  we  are." 

"  Come  along,"  said  the  sergeant.  "  What  does  it 
matter  what  you  were  ?  you  are  soldiers  now." 

"But,"  said  the  other,  "maybe  you  don't  know 
that  we  are  lunatics  —  and  dangerous  lunatics,  too. 
We  got  out  of  Richmond  Asylum  last  night." 

The  sergeant  did  not  believe  them,  and  a  row 
had  begun,  when  the  police  came  in  and  interposed, 
and  persuaded  the  sergeant  to  take  them  up  to  the 
asylum  and  test  the  truth  of  what  they  had  said. 
So  up  they  went,  and  great  was  the  joy  of  the 
officials  there  when  they  appeared,  for  they  were 
indeed  dangerous  lunatics  who  had  escaped. 

Amongst  a  few  perquisites  which  the  Commis- 
sioners of  Public  Works  in  Ireland  enjoy  are  a  buck 
and  a  doe  every  year  from  the  royal  herd  in  the 
Phoenix  Park.  I  had  written  some  years  ago  to  the 
deer-keeper  to  send  me  my  buck  on  the  following 
Tuesday.  On  that  morning,  as  I  was  dressing,  my 
servant  came  to  my  room  and  said  — 


254  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  The  man  is  below,  sir,  with  a  haunch  of 
venison." 

"Go  down,"  I  said,  "and  see  whether  he  has 
all  the  venison." 

He  returned  saying  that  the  man  had  got  only 
the  haunch. 

"Go  down  and  tell  him  to  go  back  at  once 
for  the  rest  of  the  animal,  and  say  that  I  am 
greatly  annoyed  at  having  been  sent  only  a 
haunch." 

He  returned  with  the  haunch  in  his  hand,  say- 
ing, "  The  man  says,  sir,  that  that  was  all  he  was 
told  to  leave." 

I  looked  at  the  label  on  the  venison,  and  found 
it  was  a  present  from  Lord  Powerscourt.  I  ran 
downstairs  as  fast  as  I  could  to  try  to  catch  the 
messenger.  Luckily  he  had  not  gone.  I  endeavoured 
to  explain  the  mistake  I  had  made.  He  did  not 
seem  quite  to  take  it  in,  for  he  said  — 

"  I  have  another  haunch,  sir,  but  I  was  told  to 
leave  it  at  Mr.  Brewster's;  but,  if  you  think  his 
lordship  won't  be  displeased,  I'll  leave  it  with  your 
honour,  if  you  think  you  ought  to  have  it." 

The  following  letter,  which  shows  the  confidence 
Galway  men  have  in  each  other,  is  perhaps  worth 
inserting  here.  I  received  it  from  the  late  Tom 
Burke,  then  Under-Secretary  for  Ireland,  with  a 
note  to  say  that  he  had  referred  the  writer  to  us,  as 


GALWAY  CONFIDENCE  255 

we,  and  not  he,  had  the  entire  control  over  the  deer 
in  the  Phoenix  Park.  For  obvious  reasons  I  have 
omitted  the  address. 


"  December  18,  1879. 
"  DEAR  SIR, 

"Will  you  kindly  excuse  me  as  a  Galway  man,  acquainted 
with  a  few,  at  least,  of  your  friends,  if  I  trouble  you  by  in- 
quiring how  I  could  procure  a  small  bit  of  venison  against 
Christinas  Day.  I  understand  the  matter  is  very  easy  to  those 
who  have  either  friends  or  acquaintances  in  the  park ;  but 
though  I  cannot  presume  to  count  you  amongst  either,  still 
as  a  namesake  and  a  native  of  the  same  county  I  make  bold  to 
write  you  what  otherwise  would  be  a  very  presumptuous  letter. 

'-  T  could  easily  send  for  the  venison  if  I  knew  where  to  get  it. 

"Pray  excuse  my  novel  request. 

"  Your  obedient  servt, 

"  KOBT.  BURKE. 
"  Right  Hon.  T.  H.  Burke." 

Tom  Burke  was  a  very  old  and  dear  friend  of 
mine,  and  was  one  of  a  little  club  of  twelve  members 
who  for  some  years  dined  once  a  month  at  each 
other's  houses,  and  among  whom  were  my  brother 
and  myself.  I  never  can  forget  my  grief  and  horror 
when  on  Sunday  morning,  the  Tth  of  May,  1 882,  the 
sergeant  of  police  in  Enniskerry  came  to  my  house 
and  told  me  that  he  and  Lord  Frederick  Cavendish 
had  on  the  previous  evening  been  murdered  in  the 
Phoenix  Park.  I  felt  it  all  the  more  as  I  had  been 
talking  to  them  both  but  a  few  hours  before  their 
death.  From  Lord  Frederick  I  had  received  much 


256  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

kindness  while  he  was  Financial  Secretary  to  the 
Treasury,  and  I  had  hoped  to  see  much  of  him  as 
Chief  Secretary  here. 

Our  secretary  often  got  amusing  letters,  par- 
ticularly from  farmers  who  were  borrowers  under 
the  Land  Improvement  Acts.  Here  is  one  which 
came  from  a  man  who  had  been  refused  a  second 
instalment  of  a  loan  because  he  had  misapplied  the 
first. 

"  SIR, 

"  I  spent  the  money  all  right ;  send  me  the  rest,  and  don't 
be  humboling  me  any  more.  Send  it  at  once,  T  tell  ye.  Hell 
to  your  souls!  send  me  my  money,  or  I'll  write  to  Mr.  Parnell 

about  it. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"JAMES  RYAN." 

I  suppose  most  of  the  letters  Kyan  received  were 
from  relations  in  America,  and  seeing  that  they  said 
"  affectionately,"  he  thought  that  was  the  correct 
word  to  use. 

Another  from  a  man  in  like  circumstances  was  as 
follows :  — 

"  HONOURED  SIR, 

"  I  send  you  these  few  lines,  hoping  that  you  are  in  the 
enjoyment  of  good  health,  as  I  am,  thanks  be  to  God,  at  this 
present  writing.  I  write  also  to  let  you  know  that  you  are  a 
disgrace  to  common  society,  and  that  you  had  better  send  me 
the  money  you  owe  me  at  once,  or  you'll  hear  more  about  it. 

"  Yours,  honoured  sir, 

"!)AVID  CAKKOLL." 


LETTERS  FROM  TENANT-FARMERS  257 

Here  is  one  other.  It  is  from  a  small  farmer, 
who  had  in  his  hands  the  balance  of  a  loan  (£8), 
which  he  would  neither  expend  nor  refund.  After 
many  fruitless  endeavours  to  make  him  do  one  or 
the  other,  a  peremptory  letter  was  sent  to  him, 
saying  that  if  he  did  not  within  a  week  repay  the 
amount,  the  Board's  solicitor  would  be  directed  to 
take  proceedings  at  once  against  him  for  its  recovery. 
He  replied  as  follows :  - 

"  MY  DEAR  SECRETARY  AND  GENTLEMEN   OF   THE   HONOUR- 
ABLE BOARD  OF  WORKS, 

"Asking  me  to  give  back  £8  is  just  like  asking  a  beautiful 
and  healthy  young  lady  for  a  divorce,  and  she  in  the  oughtmost 
love  with  her  husband,  as  I  am  with  each  and  every  one  of  ye. 
"  I  am,  your  sincere  friend, 

"  JAMES  CLARKE." 

The  enforcement  of  the  fishery  laAvs  in  Ireland 
was,  some  years  ago,  one  of  the  duties  of  our  Board. 
We  constantly  received  memorials  from  people  sum- 
moned for.  or  convicted  of,  breaches  of  those  laws. 
The  following  is  one  of  them  :  — 

"  Balinamana  West,  Sept.  19,  18<>!t. 
'•  To   ye    most   worship     Gentlemen     Commisioners    of  the    J^ublic 

Works  of  Ireland. 
"TiiK  MEMORIAL   OF   THOMAS  AND    ANN    EGAN  AND  MAR- 

GRET  EGAN 

"Most  humbly  showeth,  my  lords,  that  this  memorialist 
states  to  your  worships  that  on  the  shore  of  Balinainana  west 
leading  with  the  public  oyster  bank  Thomas  Egan  left  few 


258  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

hundred  oysters  steeping  on  the  lower  shower  last  season,  and 
could  not  lift  them  until  the  season  was  out.  The  water  Bailiff 
passed  by  and  found  few  small  oysters  close  there  which  he 
summoned  to  oranmore  Petty  Sessions,  his  two  little  daughters 
was  seeking  for  some  cockels  along  the  shore  which  he  says 
found  few  small  oysters  with  them  which  he  summoned  also. 
The  court  will  open  on  thursday  next,  this  memorialist  begs 
to  take  leave  to  your  worships  most  presious  time  hoping  as 
they  are  most  distressed  creatures  and  a  father  of  12  in  a  weak 
family  of  helpless  children  and  innocent  of  any  charge  and  was 
not  aware  of  any  by-law  act  they  confidently  and  most  humbly 
crave  and  implore  your  worship  will  order  them  to  be  acquited 
of  the  first  charge  of  the  kind  or  to  be  imprisonment  will 
be  leyd  on  them,  as  they  are  distressed  poor  creatures  could 
not  aford  to  no  fine  for  which  they  will  as  in  duty  ever 
pray." 

The  following  story  was  told  me  by  one  of  my 
colleagues  at  the  Board  of  Works  just  before  I 
retired  two  years  ago :  — 

An  Irish  gentleman  whom  he  knew  had  a  splendid- 
looking  cow,  but  she  kicked  so  much  that  it  took  a 
very  long  time  and  was  nearly  impossible  to  milk 
her  ;  so  he  sent  her  to  a  fair  to  be  sold,  and  told  his 
herd  to  be  sure  not  to  sell  her  without  letting  the 
buyer  know  her  faults.  He  brought  home  a  large 
price,  which  he  had  got  for  her.  His  master  was 
surprised,  and  said  — 

"  Are  you  sure  you  told  all  about  her  ? " 

"  Bedad,  I  did,  sir ! "  said  the  herd.  "  He  asked 
me  whether  she  was  a  good  milker  ?  '  Begorra, 
sir,'  says  I,  '  it's  what  you'd  be  tired  milking  her  ! ' ' 


SNIPE  SHOOTING 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Shooting  and  fishing  —  Good  snipe  grounds  —  Killarney  and 
Powerscourt  —  My  fishing  record  —  Playing  a  rock  —  Salmon 
flies  —  Salmon  and  trout  —  Grattan's  favourites  —  Hooking 
a  bird  —  Fishing  anecdotes  —  Lord  Spencer's  adventure. 

SHOOTING  and  fishing  have  been  my  favourite 
sports.  The  former,  in  my  early  days,  was  with  the 
old  flint  gun,  which  had  been  brought  to  great  per- 
fection. It  was  quite  wonderful  how  few  mis-fires 
one  had.  When  these  flint-locks  had  been  made  as 
perfect  as  possible,  they  were  superseded  by  per- 
cussion guns,  which  in  their  turn  gave  place  to 
breechloaders.  So  it  is  with  almost  everything.  I 
have  had  much  shooting  of  many  sorts,  but  snipe 
shooting  was  my  favourite ;  and  many  a  good  day 
I  have  had  with  the  old  flint  gun.  My  best  have 
been  with  a  muzzleloader.  I  never  was  a  very  good 
shot,  except  at  snipe  and  woodcock.  At  rabbits  I 
was  very  bad,  especially  when  they  were  crossing 
rides,  I  constantly  shot  behind  them,  and  sym- 
pathized with  the  Frenchman  who  couldn't  hit 
them,  "  Dey  are  so  short."  But  at  woodcock  or 
snipe  few  men  could  beat  me.  I  have  shot  as  many 


260  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

as  eighteen  snipe  in  as  many  consecutive  shots,  and 
often  from  twelve  to  fourteen  without  a  miss.  Snipe 
shooting,  alas !  is  not  what  it  used  to  be.  Drainage 
of  marshes  and  fields  has  in  some  places  abolished 
it,  in  others  greatly  injured  it.  There  are  few  places 
now  in  Ireland  where  thirteen  or  fourteen  couple 
would  not  be  considered  a  good  day,  and  on  many 
lands  where  I  have  often  shot  from  live  and  twenty 
to  thirty  couple  a  day  one-third  of  the  number 
could  not  now  be  found.  Here  are  two  of  the  best 
days  I  have  ever  had  —  I  take  them  from  my  diary  — 

"  Dingle,  VZth  February,  1855.  —  I  shot  Galorrus 
bog  ;  bagged  48  couple  of  snipe,  a  mallard,  2  plover, 
and  a  curlew.  Kan  out  of  shot  at  3  p.m." 

"  Dingle,  \3th  February,  1855.  —  I  shot  part  of 
Cohen's  bog;  bagged  60  couple  of  snipe,  a  wood- 
cock, a  teal,  a  curlew,  and  a  hare.  I  took  out  with 
me  2  Ibs.  of  powder  and  14  Ibs.  of  shot,  and  had  very 
little  left  in  the  evening." 

On  the  same  two  days  a  cousin  of  mine  who  was 
with  me  killed  forty-seven  couple  of  snipe,  four 
plover,  a  woodcock,  and  a  teal. 

As  we  sat  at  our  dinner  at  the  inn  in  Dingle, 
rejoicing  over  our  good  sport,  we  were  attended  by 
a  very  grumpy  waiter,  evidently  from  his  rich 
Dublin  brogue  an  importation  from  that  city,  sulky 
and  dissatisfied  with  his  lot.  I  happened  to  say 
to  my  cousin,  "  I  think  we  are  now  nearly  in  the 


SNIPE  SHOOTING  261 

most  westerly  spot  in  Ireland."  The  waiter  (it  was 
the  first  time  he  had  spoken  except  in  monosyllables) 
said,  "  Yes,  gentlemen,  you  are  in  the  most  westerly 
spot ;  and,  what  is  more,  you  are  in  the  most  dam- 
nable spot  in  Ireland  ! "  He  then  relapsed  into  sullen 
silence. 

On  Lord  Carlisle's  first  visit  to  Galway,  when 
he  was  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  a  waiter  —  some- 
thing of  the  same  sort  as  our  friend  —  was  told  off 
specially  to  wait  on  him.  On  handing  a  dish  of  peas 
to  him  at  dinner,  he  said,  "  Pays,  yer  Excellency ; " 
then  sotto  voce,  "  and  if  I  was  you,  the  divil  a  one  iv 
thim  I'd  touch,  for  the're  as  hard  as  bullets !  " 

These  great  days  were  on  Lord  Ventry's  property, 
and  I  was  glad  to  hear  from  him  that  these  best  of 
birds  are  still  plentiful  there.  His  son  not  very  long 
ago  shot  over  forty  in  a  day. 

The  snipe  shooting  near  Killarney  was  .very 
good  indeed,  though  not  equal  to  that  at  Dingle. 
Lord  Kenmare  kindly  gave  me  leave  to  shoot  over 
all  his  property  there,  except  the  woods  and  coverts ; 
so  did  Herbert  of  Muckross  over  all  his,  with  the 
exception  of  one  estate,  which  he  preserved  for  him- 
self and  friends  who  might  be  staying  with  him  at 
Muckross,  though  I  fear  it  was  sometimes  visited 
by  poachers  from  Killarney.  As  I  was  shooting  on 
the  adjoining  estate,  my  attendant,  one  Callaghan 
McCarthy,  said  to  me  — 


262  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  Your  honour  might  as  well  try  that  other  bog 
bey  ant  there." 

"Callaghan,"  I  said,  "don't  you  know  I  have 
not  leave  from  Mr.  Herbert  to  shoot  there  ? " 

"  What  matter,  your  honour  ? "  said  he.  "  Sure 
you  might  as  well  shoot  it  as  any  other  blackguard 
out  of  Killarney." 

In  the  neighbourhood  of  Cork  I  have  often  in  a 
day  killed  from  twenty  to  thirty  couple.  Near 
Blarney,  on  the  slope  of  a  hill,  there  was  a  spring, 
surrounded  by  mosses  and  reeds,  where  in  time  of 
frost  there  were  sure  to  be  at  least  three  or  four 
snipe.  Once  before  I  got  very  near  it  one  got  up ; 
he  flew  low  and  right  away  from  me.  'Twas  a 
long  shot,  too,  and  I  missed  him.  I  reloaded  and 
walked  on,  expecting  the  others  to  get  up,  when  lo ! 
just  by  the  spring  were  two,  each  with  a  wing 
broken,  hopping  about.  I  had  chanced  to  hit  them 
on  the  ground  when  firing  at  the  other. 

About  twelve  miles  from  Cork,  in  a  bog  near 
Castlemartyr  (one  of  the  best,  but  for  its  size,  I  ever 
shot),  there  is  a  similar  spot.  The  late  Cooper 
Penrose,  to  whom  it  belonged,  told  me  that  when 
he  went  to  shoot  there,  before  he  went  into  the  bog, 
he  always  fired  at  this  spot,  which  was  marked  by 
red  and  yellow  moss,  and  seldom  failed  to  pick  up 
from  one  to  four  snipe. 

'Twas  on  this  bog  a  sparrow-hawk  swooped  down 
and  carried  otf  a  snipe  I  had  wounded. 


KILLARNEY  IN  WINTER  263 

At  Hillville,  some  twenty  miles  west  of  Tralee, 
I  have  had  some  of  my  best  days.  Near  there  one 
evening,  after  a  very  hard  day,  during  which  I  had 
bagged  twenty-nine  couple  of  snipe  and  a  mallard, 
I  sank  nearly  to  my  middle  in  a  bog.  I  was  very 
tired,  and  but  for  the  help  of  the  man  who  was 
carrying  my  game-bag  I  do  not  think  I  could  have 
pulled  myself  out.  I  was  nearly  in  as  bad  a  plight 
as  the  gentleman  about  whom  a  girl  called  out  to 
her  father,  "  Oh,  father,  father !  come  out  quick  and 
help  Mr.  Neligan ;  he  is  up  to  his  ankles  in  the 
bog !  "  "  Well,  Mary,"  said  he,  "  what  harm  will 
that  do  him  ? "  "  Ah,  but,  father,  sure  his  head  is 
downwards !  "  said  she. 

For  over  forty  years  I  have  seen  Killarney  nearly 
every  year,  but  never  did  I  see  it  look  so  beauti- 
ful as  on  one  cloudless  winter  day,  when  we  were 
cock  shooting  in  the  woods  on  Toomey's  mountain. 
The  hills  above  and  around  us,  all  clad  in  snow, 
glistening  in  the  sun  ;  below  us  was  the  lake ;  every 
island,  with  its  trees,  reflected  in  the  water,  calm 
and  clear  as  crystal ;  and  the  woods  along  its  mar- 
gin green  as  in  summer,  so  full  are  they  of  arbutus 
and  holly. 

The  following  autumn  I  was  shooting  with  my 
friend,  the  late  John  Pennefather,  on  Lord  Glengal's 
part  of  the  Galtees,  where  grouse  are  not  plentiful. 
We  were  restricted  to  seven  brace  in  the  day  ;  but 


264  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

they  need  not  have  restricted  us,  for  after  a  long 
day,  in  which  we  had  worked  uncommonly  hard,  we 
had  only  six  and  a  half  brace.  We  were  very 
anxious  to  get  our  other  bird,  but  one  dog  had  gone 
lame,  and  the  other  was  so  tired  that  he  began  to  set 
larks  and  other  small  birds,  as  tired  dogs  will  do. 
At  last,  however,  he  came  to  a  very  steady  set  high 
above  us  on  the  hill. 

"Come  on,"  said  Pennefather;  "he  has  them  at 
last." 

"  Go  up  yourself,"  I  said ;  "  it  is  only  a  lark,  or 
something  of  the  sort." 

"  Come  on,  lazy  fellow,  and  we'll  make  the  seven 
brace.  Look  now  how  steady  he  is ! " 

So  with  our  weary  legs  up  the  weary  way  we 
trudged.  As  we  got  up  to  the  dog  a  large  yellow 
frog  jumped  from  before  his  nose  ;  nothing  else  was 
there ;  and  we  descended  sadly. 

My  last  day's  shooting  was  at  Powerscourt  —  a 
party  of  eighteen ;  we  went  up  for  a  hare  drive  on 
Douce  and  the  War  Hill.  I  and  the  late  Mr.  Gray, 
the  artist,  were  together.  We  climbed  at  such  a  pace 
that  by  the  time  we  were  half  way  up  the  mountain, 
my  heart  was  beating  in  a  fearful  way. 

"  I'll  go  no  farther,"  said  I  to  Gray ;  "  I'll  go 
back  and  shoot  woodquests  in  Powerscourt." 

"  Come  on,  man,  come  on,"  said  Gray ;  "  you'll 
be  all  right  in  a  minute." 


A  FISHING  RECORD  265 

"I  can't,"  I  said,  "there  are  drums  beating  in 
my  ears  for  the  last  ten  minutes." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  he.  "  There  are  cannons  going  off 
in  my  ears  for  twenty  minutes.  Let  us  sit  down  for 
five  minutes  and  get  our  breath,  and  we'll  be  all  right." 

So  we  did,  and  got  on  well  for  the  rest  of  the 
day.  Our  bag  was  505  hares,  and  a  good  many 
grouse ;  but  the  marching  up  the  mountains,  with 
young  fellows,  at  four  miles  an  hour  was,  at  my 
age,  too  much  for  me ;  so  I  gave  up  shooting. 

Not  so  with  fishing,  about  which  I  am  as  keen 
as  ever;  and  last  summer,  in  my  seventy-seventh 
year,  I  killed  54  salmon  and  peel ;  128  sea  trout, 
and  over  400  river  trout.  I  have  sometimes  thought 
of  writing  a  book  on  trout  and  salmon  fishing,  in 
which  my  experience  has  been  considerable,  as  I 
have  fished  more  or  less  every  season  for  five  and 
sixty  years ;  but  so  many  books  on  the  subject  have 
of  late'  years  appeared,  I  am  afraid  that  anything 
I  could  say  would  add  but  little  to  what  the  readers 
of  those  books  already  know. 

Of  the  first  twenty  years  of  my  fishing  I  have 
no  record,  as  I  did  not  keep  one  till  1848.  Since 
that  year  the  following  is  a  list  of  the  salmon,  trout, 
and  pike,  I  have  killed :  — 

Salmon  and  peel  (or  grilse) 1,295 

Sea  trout        2,636 

River  and  lake  trout       65,436 

Pike  602 


266  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

The  list  would  be  much  larger  had  I  been  able 
to  include  the  earlier  years,  or  had  I  been  able  to 
fish  as  often  as  I  pleased ;  but  my  life  has  been  a 
busy  one,  and,  until  I  went  to  the  Board  of  "Works 
in  1863,  I  took  no  regular  holidays,  and  could  only 
spare  a  few  days  occasionally  from  my  work.  Since 
then,  however,  I  have  had  a  six  weeks'  holiday  every 
year,  which  has  been  nearly  always  devoted  to 
fishing.  Of  the  trout  in  the  above  list,  the  great 
majority  were  the  small  ones  of  mountain  streams, 
of  which  I  have  caught  as  many  as  seventeen  dozen 
in  a  day ;  but  in  the  rivers  flowing  through  the  rich 
lands  in  the  midland  and  southern  counties,  I  have 
killed  many  a  fine  basket  of  trout  up  to  four  pounds 
in  weight,  and  in  lakes  up  to  eight  pounds. 

In  my  youth  I  fished  a  good  deal  in  the  Shannon, 
at  Castleconnell,  but  have  no  account  of  my  fishing 
there,  though  I  had  many  a  good  day.  My  two 
boatmen  were  Mick  Considine,  and  Tom  Enright, 
the  former  known  as  the  "  Little  Boy,"  and  after- 
wards as  "  The  Badger ; "  the  other  as  "  Tom  Pots." 
Every  boatman  on  that  part  of  the  Shannon  had  a 
nickname.  Poor  old  Tom  Pots  is  now  a  blind 
ferryman  at  Castleconnell.  I  had  not  seen  him  for 
many  years,  but  when  crossing  in  his  boat  a  few 
years  ago,  he  recognized  my  voice.  The  change  in 
Mick  Considine's  name  occurred  in  this  way.  A 
Mr.  Vincent  and  I  were  fishing  near  O'Brien's 


CASTLECONNELL  267 

Bridge,  and  went  into  a  farmhouse  to  have  our 
dinner ;  a  splendid  salmon  just  caught,  new  potatoes, 
which  the  farmer  dug  for  us,  and  newly  churned 
butter  made  a  meal  not  to  be  despised.  After 
dinner  Considine  was  standing  near  me;  scarcely 
any  men  in  those  days  wore  beards,  but  he  had  a 
large  one,  and  bushy  whiskers  too.  "  Mick,"  said  I, 
" '  Little  Boy '  is  no  name  for  you ;  you  are  like  a 
badger,  not  like  a  boy.''  Then  giving  him  a  tap  on 
the  head  with  the  handle  of  the  gaff,  "  '  The  Badger ' 
I  christen  you,  and  '  The  Badger '  you  are  from  this 
day  forth."  "  Begorra,  Mick,"  said  Mrs.  Frewen, 
the  farmer's  wife,  "  you  are  a  badger  in  earnest  now, 
for  sure  it's  Mr.  Le  Fanu  that  can  christen  you ;  isn't 
he  a  dean's  son?"  From  that  day  till  his  death, 
some  years  ago,  he  went  by  no  other  name. 

It  was  at  Castleconnell  that  I,  with  the  help  of 
these  two  boatmen,  played  a  trick  on  the  well-known 
S.  C.  Hall,  which  did  him  no  harm  beyond  the  loss 
of  a  book,  but  gave  him  a  fishing  adventure  to  talk 
of  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  I  have  since  heard  that  a 
similar  trick  has  been  played  on  others,  but  to  me 
and  my  boatmen  it  was  original.  Hall  and  Mrs. 
Hall  were  staying  with  us,  late  in  the  summer,  at 
Castleconnell.  Hall  was,  in  a  mild  way,  a  devoted 
disciple  of  old  Izaak,  but  up  to  this  time  he  had 
never  killed,  or  even  hooked,  a  salmon  ;  his  lishing 
having  been  almost  entirely  confined  to  catching 


268  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

barbel,  dace,  and  gudgeon,  and  other  base  fishes  of 
the  same  sort,  from  a  punt  on  the  Thames.  I  once, 
and  once  only,  had  the  privilege  of  enjoying  that 
sport,  it  was  near  Teddington  Lock ;  amongst  other 
fish,  I  caught  a  gudgeon  six  inches  long,  or  more ;  I 
think  it  must  have  been  one  of  unusual  size,  as  the 
boatman,  who  had  disregarded  the  other  fish,  looked 
on  it  with  evident  admiration,  laid  it  on  his  hand, 
apparently  appraising  its  weight,  and  said,  "That, 
sir,  is  an  out-and-out  gudgeon,  and  a  gudgeon  is  the 
best  fish  as  swims."  But  I  must  not  digress. 

Hall's  ambition  was  to  catch  a  salmon,  and  this  it 
is  not  easy  to  do  when  the  water  is  low  in  bright, 
hot,  autumn  weather;  the  Shannon  boatmen  say, 
"  The  fish  renaige  the  fly  in  August."  I  was,  how- 
ever, determined  that,  if  I  could  not  make  him  kill 
a  fish,  I  would,  at  all  events,  give  him  some  sport; 
so  into  the  cot  we  got  to  troll,  or  as  they  call  it 
there  "  to  drag,"  the  "  Gariffs,"  a  broad  pool,  too 
broad  for  throwing.  On  my  line  was  a  fly,  on  his 
a  spinning  bait,  which  I  had  basely  leaded  so 
heavily  that  it  must  before  long  sink  to  the  bottom 
and  stick.  We  had  not  been  long  out  when  it  got 
fast  in  a  sunken  rock.  The  boatmen  pulled  hard 
away  from  the  rock.  Whirr  !  whirr !  went  the  reel, 
as  I  shouted  — 

"  You're  in  him,  Hall !  Raise  your  rod  ;  don't  let 
him  get  slack  line." 


"JfE'S  GONE!"  269 

"Begorra,  he  is  in  him,  sure  enough,"  said  the 
Badger ;  "  a  big  fish  he  is,  too." 

When  about  fifty  yards  of  line  were  run  out, 
back  they  rowed  towards  the  rock,  while  we  shouted 
to  Hall,  "Wheel  on  him!  wheel  quick  on  him 
or  he'll  go."  As  soon  as  his  line  was  reeled  up, 
and  his  rod  well  bent,  off  we  went  again  —  whirr ! 
whirr !  whirr  !  goes  the  reel,  faster  and  louder  than 
before.  Hall  was  so  excited,  and  so  fully  occupied, 
that  he  never  saw  nor  suspected  the  manoeuvres  of 
the  men.  In  this  style  we  made  him  play  the  rock 
for  over  twenty  minutes,  when  we  finally  rowed 
right  away,  till  all  his  eighty  yards  of  line  were  run 
out,  except  a  few  rolls  on  the  axle  of  the  wheel. 

"What  shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do?"  he  cried. 
"  He'll  take  all  my  line  away  !  " 

"  You  must  hold  on  to  him  hard,"  I  said,  "  and 
take  your  chance." 

In  another  moment  the  casting-line  snapped,  the 
line  slackened,  the  rod  straightened. 

"  He's  gone,"  cried  Hall,  throwing  himself  down 
in  the  bottom  of  the  cot. 

"  Och,  murdher !  murdher !  "  shouted  Tom  Pots, 
"  the  milt  is  broke  in  me.  What  made  your  honour 
hould  him  so  hard  ?  Och,  but  he  was  a  terrible  big 
fish  !  that  fish  was  fifty  pounds  if  he  was  an  ounce." 

Hall,  as  many  of  my  readers  probably  know, 
lived  to  a  great  age ;  but  never  to  the  day  of  his 


270  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

death  did  he  cease  to  mourn  the  loss  of  that  fish. 
How  often,  years  after,  have  I,  and  other  friends  of 
his,  heard  him  describe  the  play  that  h'sh  gave,  and 
what  a  monster  he  must  have  been  ! 

Of  late  years,  except  an  occasional  day  on  other 
rivers,  my  salmon  fishing  has  been  confined  to  the 
Kerry  Blackwater,  and  to  the  Mulcaire,  in  the 
county  of  Limerick.  In  the  former  I  have  killed 
sixteen  salmon  and  peel  in  a  day,  and  in  the  latter 
thirteen.  In  my  earlier  days  I  used  a  great  variety 
of  flies  for  trout.  I  have  tied  and  tried  nearly  all 
the  four  dozen  different  kinds,  which  are  so  well 
described  in  "  Konald's  Fly  Fisher's  Entomology," 
where  there  is  given  an  exact  coloured  likeness  of 
each  fly,  and  of  its  artificial  imitation. 

Age  and  experience  has  taught  me  the  folly  of  all 
this,  as  of  many  other  things  which  I  once  thought 
wondrous  wise.  I  am  now  reduced  to  a  few  simple 
patterns,  though  not  quite  to  Cholmondely  Fennel's 
three. 

Of  salmon  flies  I  had  at  one  time  no  end  of  differ- 
ent sorts,  and  loved  to  get  a  new  pattern  from  some 
new  book ;  I  have  seldom  used  any  but  those  of  my 
own  tying,  and  for  years  have  very  rarely  tied  any 
but  the  four  following  :— 

1.  Tag  yellow ;  body  claret  or  firey  brown  fur, 
with  hackle  of  the  same  colour,  ribbed  with  gold ; 
yellow  or  jay  hackle  round  shoulder. 


FLIES  AND  FLY-FISHING  271 

2.  Tag  orange ;  body  black  silk  and  black  hackle, 
ribbed  with  silver ;  jay  hackle  round  the  shoulder. 

3.  Tag  yellow  ;   body  grey  fur  and  grey  hackle, 
ribbed  with  silver,  yellow  hackle  round  shoulder. 

4.  Grouse  Lochaber ;  body  orange  or  black,  ribbed 
with  gold. 

The  tail  of  each,  a  golden  pheasant  crest,  with  a 
few  sprigs  of  summer  duck.  The  wings  nearly  the 
same  for  all,  of  mixed  fibres  of  golden  pheasant's 
frills,  tail,  and  red  spears,  green  parrot,  blue  and 
yellow  macaw,  Guinea  hen,  mallard,  and  summer 
duck,  or  some  of  these ;  head,  black  ostrich.  I  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  flies  of  other  patterns  may  not 
kill  as  well,  but  these  are  my  favourites  everywhere. 
Of  course  I  tie  them  of  various  sizes,  and  if  one  of 
them  of  the  proper  size  will  not  raise  and  kill  a  fish, 
I  fear  it  is  the  fault  of  the  fisherman,  not  of  the  fly. 

Though  my  faith  in  colour  has  not  increased  with 

o  */ 

time,  my  faith  in  size  has.  If  I  raise  two  or  three 
fish  without  hooking  one,  or  if  a  fish  rise  twice  or 
thrice  without  taking,  I  put  up  a  smaller  fly  of  the 
same  pattern,  and  generally  do  so  with  success. 
Many  men,  in  my  opinion,  fish  with  flies  too  large, 
especially  in  low  water. 

In  the  Kerry  Blackwater,  a  rapid  mountain  river, 
which  may  be  in  high  flood  in  the  morning  and 
quite  low  in  the  evening,  I  often  during  the  day  use 
flies  of  five  or  six  different  sizes,  reducing  the  size 


272  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

as  the  water  falls ;  but  in  the  Mulcaire,  which  con- 
tinues for  a  day  or  two,  or  longer,  without  any  per- 
ceptible change  in  the  height  or  colour  of  the  water, 
I  seldom  change  the  fly,  which,  as  a  rule,  is  no  big- 
ger than  a  white  trout  fly. 

Spinning  and  worm-fishing  for  salmon  are  so  well 
described  in  the  Badminton  Library  and  other  books 
that  I  can  add  nothing,  except  that  men  are  apt  to 
strike  too  soon.  In  fly-fishing,  too,  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that,  except  in  lakes  or  very  still  water,  the 
rod  should  not  be  raised  until  a  pull  is  felt.  It  is 
many  a  year  since  one  of  the  best  salmon-fishers 
I  have  known,  when  he  saw  me  raise  my  rod  on 
seeing  a  rise,  said  to  me,  "  You  should  not  do  that ; 
never  pull  a  fish  till  he  pulls  you."  In  some  parts 
of  rivers  you  can  see  the  fish  come  quietly  at  the 
fly,  and  how  often  have  I  seen  an  excited  fisher  pull 
the  fly  away  from  him  before  he  had  time  to  take 
it.  I  remember  once,  in  my  younger  days,  on  my 
doing  this  my  gillie  said  to  me,  "  Did  you  see  how 
sorrowful  the  salmon  looked  when  your  honour 
pulled  the  fly  out  of  his  mouth  ? " 

Some  people  still  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  the 
little  smolts,  which  have  lived  for  a  year  or  more 
in  the  river,  and  have  only  grown  six  inches  long, 
will  return  from  the  sea,  after  a  visit  of  but  two  or 
three  months,  as  grilse  from  four  to  seven  pounds 
weight,  or  even  more.  What  food  they  thrive  on  so 


RAPID   GROWTH  OF  TROUT  273 

wonderfully  in  the  sea  has  not,  I  think,  been  dis- 
covered. Dr.  Edward  Hamilton,  indeed,  in  his 
"Recollections  of  Fly-fishing,"  a  most  interesting 
book,  says,  "  They  live  chiefly  upon  small  fish  and 
Crustacea ;  young  herrings  they  delight  in ; "  but, 
unfortunately,  he  does  not  give  his  authority  for 
this  statement.  Whatever  they  feed  on,  the  fact  of 
their  rapid  growth  is  beyond  dispute.  It  is  the  same 
with  trout.  Little  trout,  which  have  lived  for  years 
in  a  mountain  stream,  and  have  not  grown  to  more 
than  six  or  seven  inches  long,  if  transferred  to  a 
river  flowing  through  rich  lands,  or  to  a  newly  made 
lake  or  pond,  will  increase  in  size  nearly  as  rapidly 
as  the  smolts  do  on  their  transfer  to  the  sea.  This 
fact  is  well  established  ;  but  the  size  they  will  attain 
in  a  few  months  is  not  so  generally  known. 

My  brother-in-law,  Sir  Croker  Barrington,  made 
a  large  pond,  almost  a  little  lake,  of  about  twenty 
acres  in  extent,  in  his  demesne  at  Glenstal,  in  the 
county  of  Limerick.  The  lake  is  fed  by  an  over- 
flowing spring  well,  and  by  a  very  small  stream,  in 
which  there  are  no  fish,  as  it  dries  up  altogether  in 
summer  time.  I  saw  the  dam  completed  on  the  1st 
of  November,  1880  ;  the  lake  then  began  to  fill.  My 
nephews,  after  that,  caught  in  the  neighbouring 
mountain  streams  a  number  of  little  trout,  the  largest 
not  more  than  half  a  pound  weight,  and  put  them 
into  the  lake.  I  was  there  in  the  following  July, 


274  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

and  it  was  full  of  splendid  fish,  many  three  pounds 
and  upwards.  One  of  four  and  a  half  pounds  was 
caught,  and  some  larger  ones  were  seen. 

Amongst  the  fish  put  into  the  lake  were  many 
parr,  or  young  salmon,  five  or  six  inches  long.  A 
fine  wire  grating  was  fixed  at  the  exit  from  the  lake 
to  prevent  their  escape.  By  July  they  were  about 
one  and  a  half  pound  weight  each,  bright  as  silver, 
and  very  wild  and  plucky  when  hooked ;  excellent  at 
table,  too,  the  flesh  pink  and  curdy.  What  became 
of  them  I  do  not  know ;  they  disappeared  from  the 
lake.  The  wire  grating  may  have  been  broken  or 
disturbed,  and  so  they  may  have  got  away  to  the  sea. 

Though  it  is  not  known  on  what  food  salmon  fat- 
ten in  the  sea,  I  have  little  doubt  that  what  makes 
trout  grow  so  fast  in  newly  formed  lakes  and  ponds 
is  the  great  quantity  of  insect  food  they  get  from 
the  submerged  grasses  and  weeds.  In  rivers  where 
the  trout  are  large  there  is  much  insect  food.  If 
you  pull  up  a  bulrush  or  a  reed  you  will  find  the 
part  that  was  under  water  often  quite  covered  with 
larvae  of  flies  and  other  insects ;  whereas  in  mountain 
streams  insect  life  is  comparatively  scarce.  I  have 
seen  somewhere  an  account  of  experiments  tried  on 
trout  by  feeding  one  set  exclusively  on  worms  and 
small  fish,  and  another  set  on  flies  and  other  insects. 
The  latter  grew  and  throve  immensely  better  than 
the  former. 


CHANGES   OF  COLOUR   IN  TROUT  275 

It  is  strange  that  there  is  nothing  found  in  the 
stomachs  of  salmon  caught  in  rivers.  I  have  often 
tried,  but  never  could  find  anything.  Many  expla- 
nations have  been  offered,  all,  to  my  mind,  quite 
unsatisfactory.  In  some  rivers  in  time  of  flood  you 
will  catch  salmon  \vith  a  worm,  or  a  bunch  of  two 
or  three  worms,  and  while  the  trout  you  then  catch 
are  full  of  worms,  there  is  nothing  in  the  salmon. 
One  of  my  sons  thinks  the  salmon  may  only  chew 
and  suck  the  worms,  and  then  throw  them  out  of 
their  mouths.  I  can  hardly  believe  this,  but  it  is 
as  likely  as  any  other  of  the  theories  I  have  read  of. 

A  remarkable  property  of  trout  and  some  other 
fish  is  the  way  in  which  their  colour  adapts  itself  to 
that  of  the  bottom  of  the  river  on  which  they  lie. 
It  is  this  which  makes  it  so  hard  to  see  them.  This 
property  is  well  known ;  but  it  is  not,  I  think,  so 
well  known  how  quickly  the  colour  changes.  I 
have  often  tried  a  black  vessel  and  a  w^hite  one- 
putting  three  or  four  trout  into  each.  In  about  two 
minutes  or  less  those  in  the  black  vessel  are  so  dark 
that  you  can  scarcely  see  them,  while  those  in  the 
white  vessel,  in  an  equally  short  time,  become  a  very 
pale  brown  or  fawn-colour.  If  one  of  them  is  put 
in  amongst  the  dark  ones  he  looks  almost  white; 
but  in  a  minute  or  two  is  as  dark  as  the  others, 
and  vice  versa  a  black  one  amongst  the  bright  ones. 
I  have  just  got  a  dozen  tin  vessels  made,  painted  of 


276  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

different  colours,  green,  red,  blue,  etc.,  and  I  mean 
to  try  how  far  trout  will  take  the  different  shades. 
Their  colour  certainly  does  adapt  itself  more  or  less 
to  the  green  weeds,  the  blue  limestone,  or  the  brown 
sandstone  of  the  river  bottom,  and  no  doubt  many 
a  fisher  has  observed,  what  I  have  often  seen,  that 
a  trout  lying  on  a  gravelly  bottom,  composed  of 
light  and  dark  pebbles,  has  his  body  striped,  each 
part  assuming  the  colour  of  the  pebble  on  which  it 
lies. 

Another  strange  fact  is  that  in  rivers  where  the 
trout  are  very  small,  you  will  occasionally  find  a 
huge  fellow,  a  Brobdignag  amongst  the  Liliputians. 
I  have  had  several  examples  of  this.  One  was  in 
the  Dargle  river,  in  which  the  trout  are  nearly  all 
under  a  quarter-pound  —  a  half-pounder  is  quite  a 
rarity.  I  was  fishing  in  the  lower  part  of  it  one 
evening,  and  had  hooked  a  little  trout  on  my 
dropper-fly,  but  found  that  the  tail-fly  was  held  fast. 
I  thought  it  had  stuck  in  a  stump  or  weed,  until 
whatever  it  was  began  to  move  slowly  across  the 
river,  with  a  very  heavy  weight  upon  the  line.  I 
Avas  just  thinking  whether  it  might  possibly  be  an 
otter,  when  out  of  the  water  sprang  such  a  trout  as 
I  never  dreamt  could  be  there.  My  tackle  was  very 
light,  and  I  was  without  a  landing-net.  However, 
after  a  long  and  exciting  fight,  T  tired  him,  and 
drew  him  gently  to  the  edge  of  a  low  strand,  and  as 


A   BIG   TROUT  277 

he  lay  there  on  his  side,  gave  him  a  shove  with  my 
foot  that  sent  him  high  and  dry  on  terra  firma.  He 
was  a  little  over  five  pounds,  and  by  no  means  a 
badly  shaped  fish.  As  I  went  a  little  lower  down, 
a  stranger  who  had  been  fishing  further  up  the 
stream,  but  had  given  it  up,  was  looking  into  the 
river  over  the  road  wall.  He  asked  me  whether 
I  had  had  any  sport. 

"  Pretty  good,"  said  I.  "  I  have  got  a  few  nice 
ones." 

"I  hear,"  said  he,  "they  are  very  small  in  this 
river." 

"  They  are  rather  small ;  you  don't  get  many 
bigger  than  this  one,"  said  I,  taking  my  monster 
out  of  the  basket  and  holding  Mm  up. 

The  stranger  gave  utterance  to  a  profane  excla- 
mation of  surprise,  and  departed. 

Higher  up  this  river,  just  below  Powerscourt  de- 
mesne, is  Tinahinch,  the  house  and  property  which 
was  given  to  Grattan  by  the  Irish  nation,  in  remem- 
brance of  his  services  to  his  country.  The  place 
was  too  much  wooded,  and  has  been  much  improved 
by  Grattan's  granddaughter,  the  present  proprietor, 
who  has  cut  down  many  of  the  old  trees,  which  were 
far  too  numerous.  Grattan  was  so  fond  of  them 
that  he  would  never  allow  one  of  them  to  be  cut. 
An  English  friend,  who  had  been  staying  with  him, 
asked  him  whether  he  would  be  annoyed  if  he 


278  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

ventured  to  make  a  suggestion.  "  On  the  contrary," 
said  Grattan,  "  I  shall  feel  greatly  obliged."  "  Well," 
said  his  friend,  "  don't  you  think  that  great  beech 
tree  is  a  little  too  close  upon  the  house  —  rather 
overshadows  it  ? "  "  I  do,"  said  Grattan ;  "  and  I 
have  often  thought  of  taking  down  the  house." 

The  peasantry  in  most  parts  of  Ireland  admire 
no  woman  that  is  not  fat  and  plump.  The  highest 
compliment  they  can  pay  is  to  tell  a  lady  that  she  is 
growing  fat.  At  our  fishing  quarters  in  Kerry  we 
had  a  good  example  of  this.  On  our  arrival  an  old 
woman,  Mary  Sugrue  by  name,  said  to  my  wife, 
"Ah  then,  ma'am,  you're  looking  grand  entirely, 
God  bless  you !  and  you're  fallen  greatly  into  meat 
since  you  were  here  last  year." 

Another  time,  at  Glenstal,  my  wife  went  to  see 
the  wife  of  the  gamekeeper,  a  Mrs.  Neal,  who  is 
very  fat  —  at  least  three  or  four  stone  heavier  than 
my  wife.  "  Ah  then,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  I'm  proud 
to  see  you  looking  so  well  and  so  fat."  "  Well," 
said  my  wife,  "I  don't  think  you  have  much  to 
complain  of  in  that  respect,  Mrs.  Neal."  "  Ah, 
ma'am,"  said  she,  "  how  could  a  poor  woman  like  me 
be  as  fat  as  a  lady  like  you  ? " 

Small  or  thin  men  are  not  admired  either.  I  heard 
of  a  sturdy  beggar  who  said  to  a  pale,  emaciated 
youth  who  would  not  give  him  anything,  "  Bad  luck 
to  you,  you  desarter  from  the  churchyard ! " 


AN  "  UNSIGNIFICANT  CRAYTHUR"          279 

Mrs.  Martin  of  Ross  told  me  that  some  short 
time  ago,  as  she  was  going  out  for  a  walk,  a  poor 
woman  was  at  the  hall  door,  with  whom  she  had  the 
following  conversation :  — 

Poor  Woman.  "  Ah  then,  ma'am,  God  bless  you  ! 
and  won't  you  give  your  poor  widdy  something  ? " 

Mrs.  Martin.    "  But  you  are  not  a  widow." 

Poor  Woman.  "  Begorra,  I  am,  ma'am,  and  a 
very  poor  widdy,  with  three  small  childer." 

Mrs.  Martin.  "  But,  my  good  woman,  I  know 
your  husband  perfectly  well." 

Poor  Woman.  "  Of  course  you  do,  ma'am  ;  but 
sure  that  poor  little  unsignificant  craythur  is  not 
worth  mentioning." 

But  to  return  to  fishing.  Twice  in  my  life  I  have 
hooked  two  salmon  together ;  each  time  I  lost  one 
and  killed  the  other.  I  have,  however,  several  times 
killed  a  salmon  and  a  sea-trout  together. 

In  fly-fishing  I  never  caught  a  bird  but  once  ;  it 
was  a  water  ouzel.  I  also  caught  four  bats;  but 
they  and  the  bird  flew  by  chance  against  my  line, 
and  were  hooked  by  the  wing.  I  wonder  a  swallow 
never  takes  a  fly.  I  saw  a  robin  caught  once.  A 
friend  of  mine,  when  going  in  to  luncheon,  stuck  his 
rod  in  the  ground  in  front  of  the  house,  and  on 
coining  out  found  that  a  robin  had  taken  one  of  the 
flies,  a  small  black  midge. 

Like  most  fishers,  I  have  hooked   a  good  many 


280  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

men,  myself  most  frequently.  I  never  hooked  a 
woman  but  once  —  it  was  my  wife.  I'm  not  making 
a  miserable  joke.  I  was  fishing  at  Ballinahinch,  in 
Connemara ;  she  was  sitting  on  a  rock  behind  me, 
and  I  sent  a  salmon  fly  right  into  her  chin  as  far  as 
it  could  go.  I  don't  know  anything  more  disagree- 
able both  to  hooked  and  hooker ;  and  I  hate  pulling 
the  hook  out,  but  I  always  do  so  instead  of  cutting 
it  out  or  of  stripping  off  the  fly,  and  driving  the 
hook  through,  and  so  drawing  it  out  at  another 
place.  Losing  your  first  salmon  of  the  season  just 
as  he  is  into  the  gaff  is  bad  enough,  and  getting  the 
water  well  above  your  wading  boots  on  a  cold,  frosty 
morning  is  not  pleasant ;  but  these  accidents  that  a 
fisherman  is  heir  to  are  mere  nothings  compared 
with  what  you  feel  when  you  find  your  salmon  fly 
firmly  embedded  in  your  own  or  in  some  one  else's 
face. 

Another  time,  at  Killarney,  my  attendant,  Cal- 
laghan  McCarthy,  was  behind  me;  I  had  made  a 
cast,  and  heard  him  say,  "  Hold  on,  sir ! "  but,  on 
the  contrary,  I  gave  a  good  chuck,  thinking  I  had 
only  stuck  my  fly  in  a  weed  or  leaf  behind  me. 
He  called  out,  "For  God's  sake,  hold  on,  sir! 
Begorra,  I  believe  it's  what  you  want  to  pull  the 
eye  out  of  me."  Sure  enough,  my  hook  was  right 
through  his  upper  eyelid. 

It  was  with  this  Callaghan  McCarthy  that  I  was 


"A  FEELIN^    GINTLEMAN"  281 

once  speaking  of  one  of  my  assistants  on  the  railway 
at  Killarney,  named  Handcock,  who  was  a  very  hot- 
tempered  fellow,  and  rather  severe  with  the  men. 
"  Well,"  said  Callaghan  to  me,  "  they  may  say  what 
they  plase,  your  honour,  about  Mr.  Handcock,  but 
he's  a  wondherful  feelin'  gintleman."  "  I'm  glad  to 
hear  you  say  so,  Callaghan,"  said  I.  "  Oh  then, 
indeed,  it's  him  that  is  the  feelin'  gintleman.  When 
I  was  so  bad  last  winther,  didn't  he  come  into  the 
house  to  see  me?  And  as  soon  as  he  seen  me, 
'  McCarthy,'  says  he,  '  put  out  your  tongue.'  Well, 
savin'  yer  honour's  presence,  I  put  out  my  tongue ; 
and  when  he  seen  it,  '  McCarthy,'  says  he,  '  you're  a 
dead  man.'  He's  a  rale  feelin'  gintleman,  that's 
what  he  is." 

At  Glenstal  I  was  going  down,  one  warm  even- 
ing, to  fish  the  ponds.  I  had  wound  a  cast  of  flies 
round  my  hat,  and  another  round  that  of  the  under- 
keeper.  As  we  went  down  through  the  wood  a 
great  many  flies  were  buzzing  about  us.  I  mistook 
one  of  those  on  my  hat  for  one  of  them,  made  a  slap 
at  it,  and  sent  the  hook  right  into  the  palm  of  my 
hand.  I  could  see  that  the  keeper  was  with  diffi- 
culty suppressing  a  laugh;  but  about  ten  minutes 
afterwards  he  called  out,  "Bedad,  sir,  I've  done  it 
myself  now."  And  so  he  had,  and  in  exactly  the 
same  way. 

A  Mr.  Edward  Dartnell  told  me  that  as  he  was 


282  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

fishing  near  Limerick  for  pike,  with  a  frog  for  his 
bait,  he  in  some  way  managed  to  send  the  hook 
right  through  the  gristly  part  of  his  nose,  between 
the  nostrils.  He  had  to  walk  a  mile,  the  frog  hang- 
ing there,  but  concealed  beneath  his  pocket-handker- 
chief, till  he  came  to  a  forge,  and  got  the  hook  filed 
across  and  taken  out. 

On  a  cloudless  day  I  was  fishing  on  the  river 
Laune  at  Killarney.  It  was  so  calm,  and  the  water 
so  clear,  that  I  couldn't  raise  a  fish,  so  I  tried  worms, 
and  soon  hooked  a  small  salmon.  While  playing 
him  I  thought  I  saw  something  constantly  darting 
at  his  head,  and  as  he  got  tired  and  came  near,  I 
saw  that  it  was  a  large  perch,  which  was  grabbing 
at  the  worms  hanging  on  my  hook  from  the  salmon's 
mouth.  He  never  ceased  to  do  so  till  the  fish  was 
gaffed ;  and  so  bold  was  he,  that  if  my  gillie  had 
had  a  large  landing-net  instead  of  a  gaff,  I  am  sure 
he  would  have  landed  both  the  fish. 

One  day,  as  I  was  fishing  the  Swords  river,  I  got 
into  conversation  with  McClelland,  the  water  bailiff. 
He  asked  me  how  many  children  I  had.  I  told  him, 
and  he  said,  "That's  quare  now,  your  honour,  for 
that's  exactly  the  same  number  myself  and  my 
missus  has.  And  isn't  it  strange  how  the  Lord 
would  give  you  and  me,  that  can't  afford  it,  such  a 
lot?  and  look  at  Mr.  Roe,  and  Mr.  Dargan,  and 
other  rich  men  that  hasn't  one.  But  I  suppose,"  he 


A   SCANTY  COSTUME  283 

continued  after  a  pause  —  "  I  suppose  the  Lord  takes 
some  other  way  of  tormenting  them." 

When  fishing  in  Connemara,  in  the  summer  of 
1869,  I  started  one  morning  very  early  from  Glenda- 
lougli  Hotel,  our  headquarters,  for  the  Snave  Beg 
("The  Little  Swim"),  so  called  because  it  is  the  nar- 
rowest part  of  Ballinahinch  Lake,  in  fact  little  more 
than  a  strait  joining  the  upper  to  the  lower  lake. 
My  wife  and  two  children  were,  after  their  break- 
fast, to  meet  me  there.  By  half-past  nine  I  had 
killed  two  salmon,  and  in  order  to  cast  my  tiy  over 
a  fish  that  was  rising  a  long  way  out,  I  stepped  out 
from  stone  to  stone  on  some  slippery  rocks.  Just  as 
1  reached  the  point  1  was  making  for  my  feet  went 
from  under  me,  and  I  fell  flat  on  my  back  into  the 
lake.  All  my  clothes,  I  need  not  say,  required  dry- 
ing, so,  as  the  sun  was  hot,  I  spread  them  on  the 
rocks,  and  ran  about  across  the  heather  to  warm  and 
dry  myself.  While  I  was  still  in  this  unusual 
fishing  costume  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  car  rapidly 
approaching,  and  saw,  to  my  horror,  that  not  only 
were  my  wife  and  children  upon  it,  but  also  another 
lady.  Fortunately  there  was  a  large  rock  close 
by  ;  behind  this  I  carefully  concealed  myself,  and 
despatched  one  of  my  boatmen  to  stop  the  car,  and 
to  ask  them  to  send  me  a  rug  and  as  many  pins  as 
they  could  muster.  The  rug  was  pinned  round  me, 
my  arms  left  free,  and  my  legs  sulliciently  so  to 


284  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

allow  me  to  walk,  and  thus  attired  I  fished  for  three 
full  hours,  until  my  clothes  were  dry. 

I  have  had  many  other  duckings,  both  in  lake  and 
river,  besides  "  The  Snave  Beg"  just  described,  but 
I  shall  only  mention  one  of  them,  as  they  are  usual 
incidents  in  the  life  of  every  fisherman.  At  our 
fishing  quarters  on  the  Kerry  Blackwater  most  of 
the  fishing  is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  from 
the  house.  We  pull  ourselves  across  in  a  flat- 
bottomed  boat  attached  to  an  endless  rope,  which 
passes  through  pulleys  on  each  bank.  One  wet  and 
stormy  day  during  our  stay  there,  in  the  year  1884, 
I  was  watching  for  a  fresh  in  the  river,  and  from 
the  house  I  could  see  that  the  water  was  slowly 
rising ;  so  I  sallied  forth  with  rod  and  gaff  and  my 
trusty  attendant,  Andy  Hallissy.  We  got  into  the 
boat,  and  he  began  to  pull  us  across,  while  I 
remained  standing  up,  with  the  rod  in  one  hand  and 
the  gaff  in  the  other.  We  had  got  about  halfway, 
when  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  drove  us  against  the 
rope,  which  caught  me  across  the  chest,  and  sent  me 
spinning  over  the  gunwale  of  the  boat  into  the 
water.  I  at  once  struck  out  to  swim  ashore,  but 
found  that  I  made  no  progress,  the  reason,  which  I 
soon  discovered,  being  that  Andy  had  firm  hold  of 
the  tails  of  my  coat.  "Let  go,  Andy,"  I  said,  "and 
I'll  be  ashore  in  a  minute."  "  Begorra,  T  won't  let 
you  go,"  said  Andy,  "  until  you  catch  hold  of  the 


IRISH  AND  SCOTCH  285 

gunwale  of  the  boat ;  and  I'll  pull  you  over  myself." 
Within  an  hour  I  had  been  up  to  the  house,  had 
changed  my  clothes,  and  was  playing  a  salmon. 

At  Killarney  I  heard  the  following  story,  which 
shows  how  differently  an  Irishman  and  a  Scotchman 
will  take  a  joke.  An  Englishman,  who  had  been 
fishing  the  lower  lake,  said  to  his  boatman,  "An 
extraordinary  thing  happened  to  me  some  years  ago. 
I  lost  a  pair  of  scissors  out  of  my  fishing  book  at  the 
edge  of  the  lake.  The  next  year  I  was  fishing  here 
again  and  hooked  and  killed  a  very  large  pike.  I 
felt  something  hard  inside  him,  so  I  opened  him, 
and  what  do  you  think  it  was?"  "  Begorra,  then, 
your  honour,  I'd  think  it  moight  be  your  scissors 
only  for  one  little  thing."  "What  is  that?"  asked 
the  other.  "  It's  only  just  this,  your  honour,  that 
there  never  was  a  pike  in  any  of  the  Killarney  lakes 
since  the  world  began." 

Afterwards  he  tried  the  same  story  with  a  gillie 
in  Scotland.  When  he  asked  him,  "What  do  you 
think  was  inside  him  ? "  the  gillie  replied,  "  Your 
scissors  and  nae  guts ;  and  the  Duke  of  Argyll  — 
and  he's  a  far  greater  man  than  the  king  —  would 
not  have  insulted  me  sae.  I'll  fish  nae  mare  wi 
ye  ; "  and  off  he  walked. 

At  Lareen,  the  fishing  quarters  of  my  brother-in- 
law,  the  late  Chief  Justice  May,  I  was  fishing  down 
the  Bundrowse  river,  accompanied  by  his  keeper 


286  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

Watt.  I  was  crossing  to  an  island  by  some  stepping 
stones,  when  he  called  out  to  me  not  to  go  that  way 
as  the  stones  were  slippery;  "and,"  said  he,  "you 
might  fall  in  as  his  lordship  did  the  other  day ;  but 
I  have  made  a  nice  little  bridge  at  the  other  end  of 
the  island,  and  he  never  crosses  by  the  stones  now." 

"I  suppose,"  said  I,  "he  dreads  the  water  as  a 
burnt  child  dreads  the  fire." 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Watt.  "But  maybe  you 
don't  know  who  it  was  that  invented  that  saying." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  think  it  was 
Solomon." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  him,"  said  he ;  "  it  was  my  grand- 
father." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I.  "  I  thought  it  was  more 
ancient." 

"Well,  it  isn't,  though  it's  wonderful  how  well 
known  it  is ;  but  it  was  my  grandfather  that  first 
said  it.  You  see,  sir,  this  was  the  way  it  came 
about.  My  grandfather  was  a  smith,  and  he  saw 
the  minister  coming  down  towards  the  forge  to  pay 
him  a  visit,  and  for  a  bit  of  a  joke  he  threw  a  small 
bit  of  iron  he  was  forging  on  the  ground ;  it  was 
nearly  red  hot.  When  the  minister  came  in,  after 
a  little  talk,  my  grandfather  says  to  him,  '  Minister, 
might  I  trouble  you  to  hand  me  up  that  bit  of  iron 
there  at  your  feet  ? '  So  minister  picked  it  up ;  but 
I  can  tell  you  he  dropped  it  quick  enough,  for  it 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  A   PROVERB  287 

burnt  his  fingers.  Just  that  minute  my  father  and 
my  uncle  came  into  the  force  —  they  were  wee 
chaps  then  —  and  my  grandfather  he  says  to  them, 
'  Boys,  hand  me  up  that  bit  of  iron.'  "Well,  the 
little  fellows  they  knelt  down  and  just  spit  on  the 
iron  to  see  was  it  too  hot ;  so  my  grandfather  he 
began  to  laugh  at  the  minister,  and  says  to  him, 
'  Well  now,  minister,  with  all  your  book-reading 
and  learning  you  see  you  haven't  the  wit  of  them 
two  small  chaps.'  '  Ah  ! '  says  minister,  '  I  suppose 
you  played  them  that  trick  before,  and  they  didn't 
wrant  to  burn  their  fingers  again.'  '  That's  just  it, 
minister,'  says  my  grandfather.  '  You  see,  a  burnt 
child  dreads  the  fire.'  So  the  minister  told  the  story 
everywhere,  and  that's  the  way  the  saying  got 
spread  all  over  the  country.  So,  you  see,  my  grand- 
father invented  it." 

This  "Watt  had  been  keeper  to  Lord  Massey, 
from  whom  my  brother-in-law  rented  the  place, 
and  the  fishing  and  shooting ;  and  I  think  it  was 
with  him  that  Lord  Spencer  many  years  before 
had  rather  an  amusing  adventure.  In  May,  1870, 
during  his  first  viceroyalty  Lord  Spencer  asked 
me  to  accompany  him  and  Lady  Spencer  part 
of  the  way  on  a  tour  they  were  about  to  make 
through  the  north  and  north-west  of  Ireland. 
After  having  visited  Lough  Erne,  Enniskillen,  and 
Belleek,  we  arrived  at  Bundoran  late  in  the  evening. 


288  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

and  here  I  was  to  have  left  them.  Lord  Spencer, 
however,  pressed  me  to  remain  with  them  the  next 
day  in  order  to  go  with  him  to  fish  the  Bundrowse 
river,  which  he  said  Lord  Massey  had  invited  him 
to  try  if  he  should  ever  be  in  the  neighbourhood.  I 
should  have  greatly  liked  to  do  so,  as  I  had  never 
seen  the  Bundrowse,  and  had  heard  much  of  it  not 
only  as  a  salmon  river,  but  as  famous  for  the  curious 
and  beautiful  gillaroo  trout,  which  abound  in  it  and 
in  Lough  Melvin,  from  which  it  flows  to  the  sea. 
Unfortunately,  however,  engagements  in  Dublin 
necessitated  my  departure,  and  I  left  them  next 
morning  before  they  started  for  Lareen,  which  lies 
about  four  miles  to  the  south  of  Bundoran. 

I  did  not  see  Lord  Spencer  till  about  ten  days 
afterwards,  when  I  was  dining  at  the  Viceregal 
Lodge.  I  then  asked  him  whether  he  had  had  good 
sport  the  day  I  left  him. 

"  Didn't  you  hear  what  happened  ? "  he  said. 
"We  had  a  funny  adventure,  but  no  fishing.  We 
arrived,"  he  went  on,  "at  the  river  and  had  just 
put  up  our  rods,  when  a  keeper  appeared  and 
inquired  whether  we  had  an  order  from  Lord 
Massey.  Freddy  Campbell  ( — he  was  then  Lord 
Spencer's  aide-de-camp  — )  explained  to  him  who  we 
were,  and  that  Lord  Massey  had  asked  me  to  fish. 
The  keeper  replied,  '  If  you  haven't  a  written  order 
I  won't  let  you  fish,  not  even  if  you  were  the  king, 


LORD  SPENCER  AND   THE  KEEPER  289 

let  alone  the  lord  lieutenant.'  Persuasion  was 
useless ;  the  keeper  was  inexorable,  and  we  had 
to  take  down  our  rods  and  return  sadly  to 
Bundoran." 

"Oh,  sir,"  I  said,  "Lord  Massey  will  be  greatly 
annoyed  and  very  angry  about  it." 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  I  took  care  about  that.  I  wrote 
to  him  the  same  day  to  tell  him  that  I  was  delighted 
to  have  found  such  an  honest  and  trustworthy 
keeper." 


290  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Illicit  stills  —  Getting  a  reward  —  Poteen  —  Past  and  present  — 
Dress  and  dwellings  —  Marriage  and  language  —  Material 
improvement  since  1850. 

SOME  twenty  years  ago  one  of  my  sons,  then  a  boy, 
and  I  were  on  a  fishing  excursion  in  the  county  of 
Donegal.  "We  were  staying  at  the  little  village  of 
Glen,  close  by  Glen  Lough,  in  rooms  over  a  public- 
house,  kept  by  one  Dolty  McGarvey.  After  a  few 
days  he  had  become  a  great  friend  of  ours.  I  knew 
a  great  deal  of  poteen  (illicit  whisky)  was  distilled 
there,  and  as  I  had,  in  all  my  rambles,  never  seen  an 
illicit  still,  I  greatly  wished  to  see  one.  I  imparted 
my  wish  to  Dolty,  and  he  at  once  said  he  would 
take  us  to  see  one  the  next  day;  so  early  on  the 
morrow  he  brought  us  some  miles  across  wild  hills 
and  bogs  till  we  arrived  at  the  house  of  a  farmer, 
who  was  his  partner  in  the  still.  They  brought 
us  on  some  way  till  we  came  to  a  lane,  well  sheltered 
by  thorn  bushes,  where,  by  a  little  stream,  three 
sons  of  Dolty's  partner,  fine  young  fellows  as  I 
ever  saw,  were  working  at  the  still.  They  wore 
stockings,  but  no  shoes,  and  told  us  that  by  that 


ILLICIT  DISTILLING  291 

means,  in  case  of  alarm,  they  could  run  more  quickly 
over  rocks  and  rough  ground  than  if  they  were 
barefoot  or  had  shoes.  We  sat  on  a  bank,  and  they 
drank  our  health  and  we  drank  theirs,  in  a  little 
measure,  not  much  bigger  than  a  thimble,  of  the 
poteen  hot  from  the  still.  I  asked  Dolty  whether 
the  smoke  ever  attracted  the  attention  of  the  police, 
lie  said  that  the  distilling  itself  made  so  little  smoke 
that  it  was  unnoticed  at  a  short  distance,  but  that 
d lying  the  malt  made  a  great  deal,  and  it  was  then 
they  had  to  be  careful. 

"  How  do  you  manage  to  escape,  then  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Ah !  "  said  he,  "  we  always  dry  the  malt  in  the 
beginning  of  July,  when  all  the  police  are  taken  off 
to  Deny  to  put  down  the  riots  there ;  so  we  can  do 
it  safely  then.  God  is  good,  sir  ;  God  is  good." 

A  few  mornings  after  this  he  roused  us  up  very 
early,  and  told  us  to  look  out  of  our  window,  from 
which  we  saw  five  policemen  carrying  in  triumph 
through  the  village  a  still,  which  they  had  just 
seized.  Dolty  wras  in  fits  of  laughter.  On  our 
asking  what  he  laughed  at,  he  told  us  that  the  still 
was  an  old  one,  quite  worn  out. 

"  Look  at  the  holes  in  it,"  he  said.  "  Some  one 
has  given  information  to  the  police  where  they 
would  find  it.  We  often  play  them  that  trick,  and 
sometimes  get  a  pound  reward  for  an  old  still  that 
isn't  worth  sixpence." 


292  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

On  our  return  to  Dublin  I  told  my  friend  T— 
of  our  adventures.  An  Englishman  he  was,  on  the 
Lord  Lieutenant's  (Lord  Spencer)  staff;  he  had 
been  studying  Irish  characters  and  habits,  and  was 
most  anxious  to  see  an  illicit  still  at  work,  so  off  he 
set  to  Glen,  and  put  up  at  Dolty  McGarvey's.  The 
morning  after  his  arrival  —  it  was  rather  premature 
—  he  said  to  him  — 

"  Can  you  take  me  to  see  a  still  at  work  ?  I  should 
like  to  see  one." 

"  There  is  no  still  in  the  country,"  said  Dolty. 

"  Nonsense,"   said    T .      "  You    took  Mr.   Le 

Fanu  to  see  one." 

"Who  told  you  that,  sir?"  said  Dolty.  "I 
couldn't  show  him  one,  for  there  is  not  one 
here." 

"  'Twas  Mr.  Le  Fanu  himself  who  told  me,"  said 
T . 

"  He  was  humbugging  you,"  said  McGarvey. 
"  He  never  saw  a  still  here." 

Before  I  again  visited  that  part  of  Donegal 
Dolty  McGarvey  had  died,  so  I  never  heard  why  he 
wouldn't  do  by  my  friend  as  he  had  done  by  us. 
Perhaps  he  had  seen  the  royal  arms  on  T—  — 's 
despatch-box,  or  on  the  seals  on  letters  from  the 
Castle,  and  feared  he  might  be  a  detective  or  a  spy  ; 
but  Avhatever  it  was,  ray  friend's  wish  to  see  a  still 
at  work  has  never  been  gratified. 


AN  ISLAND   OF  SAINTS  293 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  in  parts  of  Donegal  they 
grow  a  crop  of  oats  and  barley  mixed  ;  they  call  it 
pracas  (which  is  the  Irish  for  a  mixture),  and  use  it 
for  no  other  purpose  but  illicit  distilling. 

Since  the  time  of  my  visit  to  the  still  with  Dolty 
McGarvey,  illicit  distilling  in  that  part  of  Donegal 
has,  I  believe,  much  diminished,  owing  to  a  great 
extent  to  the  exertions  of  the  late  Lord  Leitrim, 
whose  early  death  has  been  such  a  loss  not  only  to 
his  own  tenantry,  whose  welfare  he  always  had  at 
heart,  and  by  whom  he  was  much  beloved,  but  to 
the  whole  of  the  countryside,  which  he  had  benefited 
in  many  ways,  especially  by  the  establishment  of 
steamers  plying  between  Mulroy  Bay  and  Glasgow. 
But  though  illicit  distilling  has  to  a  great  extent  died 
out  on  the  mainland,  it  has  been  found  impossible 
to  suppress  it  on  the  islands  off  the  west  coast. 
Constabulary  had  for  some  time  been  stationed  on 
several  of  the  largest  of  these  islands,  but  they  were 
in  some  cases  withdrawn  about  eighteen  months  ago. 
"Whatever  the  reasons  for  this  step  may  have  been,  the 
results  cannot  but  be  disastrous  to  the  inhabitants 
of  the  islands  and  the  adjoining  parts  of  the  main- 
land, to  which  the  poteen  is  easily  smuggled.  It  is 
only  a  few  days  ago  that  I  received  a  letter  from  a 
friend  of  mine  who  had  just  visited  one  of  the  islands 
off  the  coast  of  Sligo.  The  following  is  an  extract 
from  his  letter ;  — 


294  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

"  We  made  an  expedition  to  Inishmurray  the  day  before 
yesterday.  .  .  .  We  saw  the  old  churches  and  the  beehive  cells, 
and  the  image  of  Father  Molash.  The  island  was  once  an 
island  of  the  saints ;  it  is  now  one  of  devils.  Most  of  the  men 
were  more  or  less  drunk ;  the  air  seemed  laden  with  fumes  of 
poteen.  We  saw  a  couple  of  stills,  one  at  work.  The  school- 
master says  that  the  children  are  getting  quite  dull  and  stupid 
from  being  constantly  given  tastes  of  the  whisky." 

The  manufacture  is  an  ancient  one.  No  doubt  the 
"  Aqua  Vitas,"  which  Holinshed  in  his  "  Chronicles  " 
mentions  as  an  "  ordinarie  drinke  "  of  the  inhabitants, 
was  nothing  but  the  poteen  of  the  olden  times.  I 
cannot  do  better  than  to  give  a  quotation  of  the 
passage  in  the  "Chronicles,"  in  which  its  wonderful 
virtues  are  so  well  described. 

"  The  soile  is  low  and  waterish,  including  diverse  little 
Islands,  invironed  with  lakes  and  marrish.  Highest  hils  have 
standing  pooles  in  their  tops.  Inhabitants,  especiallie  new  come, 
are  subject  to  distillations,  rheumes  and  fluxes.  For  remedie 
whereof  they  use  an  Ordinarie  drink  of  Aquae  Vitae,  being  so 
qualified  in  the  making,  that  it  drieth  more  and  also  inflameth 
Jesse  than  other  hot  confections  doo.  One  Theoricus  wrote  a 
proper  treatise  of  Aquae  Vitae  wherein  he  praiseth  it  to  the 
ninth  degree.  He  distinguisheth  three  sorts  thereof,  Simplex, 
Composita,  and  Perfectisima.  He  declareth  the  simples  and 
ingrediences  thereto  belonging.  He  wisheth  it  to  be  taken  as 
well  before  meat  as  after.  It  drieth  up  the  breaking  out  of 
hands,  and  killeth  the  flesh  worms,  if  you  wash  your  hands 
therewith.  It  scowreth  all  scurfe  and  scalds  from  the  head, 
being  therewith  dailie  washt  before  meales.  Being  moderatlie 
taken  (Saith  he)  it  sloweth  age,  it  strengthneth  youth,  it  helpeth 


A   LONG  SEA    VOYAGE  295 

digestion,  it  cutteth  flegme,  it  abandoneth  melancholie,  it 
relisheth  the  heart,  it  lighteneth  the  mind,  it  quickeneth  the 
spirits,  it  cureth  the  hydropsie,  it  healeth  the  strangurie,  it 
keepeth  and  preserveth  the  head  from  whirling,  the  eies  from 
dazeling,  the  toong  from  lisping,  the  mouth  from  maffling,  the 
teeth  from  chattering,  and  the  throte  from  ratling :  it  keepeth 
the  \veasan  from  Stifling,  the  Stomach  from  wambling,  and  the 
heart  from  swelling,  the  hands  from  shivering,  the  sinewes 
from  shrinking,  the  veines  from  crumpling,  the  bones  from 
aking,  the  marrow  from  soaking.  Ulstadius  also  ascribeth 
thereto  a  singular  praise,  and  would  have  it  to  burne  being 
kindled,  which  he  taketh  to  be  a  token  to  know  the  goodnesse 
thereof.  And  trulie  it  is  a  sovereigns  liquor  if  it  be  Orderlie 
taken." 

It  is  hard  to  realize  how  great  the  change  in 
nearly  everything  has  been  since  my  early  days. 

I  was  a  child  when  steam  vessels  first  plied  be- 
tween England  and  Ireland  ;  before  that  passengers 
and  mails,  as  well  as  goods,  were  carried  across  the 
channel  by  sailing  vessels. 

The  mail-boats  started  from  the  Pigeon-house, 
near  Dublin.  In  bad  weather  the  voyage  often 
occupied  some  days,  and  in  view  of  a  not  improbable 
long  sea  voyage,  each  passenger  took  with  him  a 
hamper  of  provisions,  which,  if  the  passage  proved 
a  good  one,  was  given  to  the  captain  as  a  perquisite. 
A  ferry-boat  carried  passengers  and  mails  across  the 
Menai  Straits. 

I  remember  well  the  opening  of  the  first  railway 
in  England.  I  had  entered  college  before  one 


296  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

existed  here.  The  earliest  was  that  from  Dublin  to 
Kingstown,  on  which  I  travelled  in  the  first  train 
that  ever  ran  in  Ireland. 

I  can  recollect  the  time,  before  gas  was  used  as  an 
illuminant,  when  towns  and  cities  were  lighted  by 
oil  lamps.  It  was  in  those  days  that  an  old  lady, 
on  being  told  that  oil  would  be  altogether  superseded 
by  gas,  asked  with  a  sigh,  "  And  what  will  the  poor 
whales  do  ? " 

There  were  no  matches  in  my  early  days ;  the 
want  was  supplied  by  flint  and  steel  or  tinder-box. 

I  need  hardly  say  there  were  no  telegraphs  nor 
telephones  nor  photographs.  "  The  world,  indeed, 
has  wagged  a  pace." 

In  the  dress  and  habits  of  the  country  people,  too, 
there  has  been  much  change.  The  dress  of  girls 
and  women  on  Sundays  and  holidays  is  now  as  close 
an  imitation  as  they  can  afford  or  procure  of  that  of 
fashionable  ladies.  Formerly,  instead  of  shawls  or 
capes,  they  wore  over  a  simple  gown  a  long  cloak 
with  a  hood.  In  many  parts  of  the  south  it  was  of 
bright  scarlet  cloth,  the  hood  lined  with  pink  silk. 
Hats  and  bonnets  were  unknown.  Girls  had  noth- 
ing on  their  heads;  married  women  wore  many- 
bordered,  high-cauled  caps.  The  men  all  wore 
corduroy  knee-breeches,  bright  coloured  waistcoats, 
and  frieze  coats,  made  like  an  evening  coat. 

The  red  cloaks  and  white  caps,  contrasting  with 


"HEADS  AND  POINTS"  297 

the  grey  and  blue  frieze,  gave  a  wonderfully  pict- 
uresque effect  to  a  funeral  or  other  procession,  where 
all  walked,  except  some  farmers,  who  rode  with 
their  wives  on  pillions  behind  them.  This  effect 
in  funerals  was  heightened  by  the  wild,  wailing  Irish 
cry,  "  keened "  by  many  women  all  the  way  from 
the  home  to  the  grave.  Now  it  is  only  heard  in  the 
churchyard,  and  rarely  even  there. 

In  the  food  of  the  people,  too,  there  has  been 
great  improvement.  In  old  days  most  of  them  had 
nothing  but  potatoes ;  now  there  are  very  few  who 
have  not,  in  addition,  bread  and  tea,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  meat  of  some  kind. 

Their  dwellings  also  are  much  improved.  For- 
merly the  number  of  cabins  with  but  one  room  or  two, 
a  kitchen  and  a  bedroom,  was  very  large.  In  them 
there  were  two  beds,  in  one  of  which  slept  the  father 
and  mother  of  the  family  ;  in  the  other,  the  children, 
who  lay  (as  they  call  it)  heads  and  points,  the  heads 
of  the  boys  being  at  one  end  of  the  bed,  those  of  the 
girls  at  the  other.  These  houses  were  built  of  mud. 
Most  of  them  had  no  windows ;  only  a  hole  in  the 
wail  to  let  out  the  smoke.  Such  dwellings  are 
disappearing  fast,  and  ere  many  years  none  of  them 
will,  I  trust,  be  left.  The  houses  built  in  recent 
years  are  comfortable  and  substantial. 

Now  in  every  house  there  are  candles  or  a  lamp. 
Formerly,  as  a  rule,  there  were  neither ;  the  inmates 


298  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

sat  and  talked  by  the  light  of  the  turf  fire,  and  if 
anything  had  to  be  searched  for  they  lit  a  rush, 
which  served  in  lieu  of  a  candle.  Of  them  there  was 
a  good  supply.  They  were  pealed  rushes,  dried,  and 
drawn  through  melted  grease  or  oil.  The  peasants 
who  came  to  us  for  medicine  always  begged  for 
castor-oil.  We  suspected  they  generally  wanted  it 
not  for  their  own  insides,  but  for  the  outsides  of  their 
rushes ;  all  the  more  because  we  knew  that  they  had 
a  strong  objection  to  take  it  as  a  medicine,  believing, 
as  many  of  them  did,  that  it  was  made  from  human 
flesh  boiled  down.  This  is  why  an  angry  man  would 
say  to  another  —  or,  for  that  matter,  to  his  wife  if 
she  annoyed  him  —  "It's  what  I  ought  to  put  you 
into  the  pot  on  the  fire  and  boil  you  into  castor- 
oil." 

The  arrangements  as  to  marriages  have  not 
changed  as  much  as  other  things.  It  very  often 
happened,  and  sometimes  happens  still,  that  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  never  saw  each  other  till  the 
wedding  day,  or  a  day  or  two  before  it,  the  match 
being  made  by  the  parents,  assisted  by  the  priest. 
Of  course  there  were  love  matches  too ;  but  they 
were  the  exceptions. 

Farmers  had  a  great  objection  to  their  younger 
daughters  being  married  before  the  elder  ones.  A 
tenant  of  my  brother-in-law,  Sir  "William  Barrington, 
came  to  tell  him  that  his  daughter  Margaret  had 


THE  HUSH  LANGUAGE  299 

been  married  the  day  before  to  Pat  Ryan.  "  How 
is  that,"  said  he.  "  He  told  me  it  was  your  daughter 
Mary  he  was  going  to  marry?"  "So  it  was,  your 
honour,"  said  the  farmer.  "  'Twas  her  he  was 
courting,  but  I  made  him  take  Margaret.  Wasn't 
she  my  ouldest  daughter  ?  and  I  wouldn't  let  him  be 
runnin'  through  the  family  that  way,  taking  his 
pick  and  choice  of  them."  Mary  was  young  and 
pretty,  Margaret  passee  and  plain.  It  was  probably 
in  such  a  case  that  a  man,  boasting  of  the  kindness 
of  his  father-in-law,  said,  "  Sure  he  gave  me  his 
ouldest  daughter,  and  if  he  had  an  oulder  one  he'd 
have  given  her  to  me." 

The  greater  part  of  the  income  of  the  priests 
was  derived  from  weddings.  There  was  always  a 
collection  for  "  his  raverence."  At  the  wedding  of 
the  daughter  of  a  farmer,  Tom  Dundon,  living  near 
us  at  Abington,  at  which  I  was  present,  the  priest 
got  over  thirty  pounds.  That  was  one  of  the  cases 
in  which  the  bride  and  bridegroom  never  met  until 
their  wedding  day,  and  a  very  happy  married  life 
they  had. 

Not  the  least  remarkable  of  the  changes  in  recent 
years  is  the  rapidity  with  which  the  Irish  language 
is  dying  out,  and  in  many  districts  has  died  out. 
This  is  mainly  due  to  the  education  in  the  national 
schools,  where  all  the  teaching  is  in  English,  and  to 
the  want  of  books  or  newspapers  in  Irish. 


300  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

• 
In  the  counties  of  Limerick  and  Tipperary,  when 

I  was  a  boy,  many  of  the  old  people  could  speak 
Irish  only ;  middle-aged  men  and  women  knew  both 
English  and  Irish,  but  always  spoke  the  latter  to  each 
other;  boys  and  girls  understood  both  languages, 
but  almost  always  spoke  in  English.  Now  it  is  only 
very  old  men  and  women  who  know  Irish  there ; 
the  young  people  do  not  understand  it,  and  cannot 
tell  the  meaning  of  any  Irish  word.  The  same 
process  is  going  on,  though  not  everywhere  so 
rapidly,  in  every  district,  where  fifty  years  ago 
Irish  wras  the  language  of  the  people;  and  I  fear 
that,  notwithstanding  the  endeavours  of  a  society 
started  not  long  ago  to  keep  it  alive,  the  Irish 
language  will  before  another  fifty  years  be  dead. 


ELECTRO-BIOLOGY  301 


CHAPTER   XIX 

The  science  of  hypnotism  —  Early  experiments  and  lessons  —  A 
drink  of  cider  —  I  convert  Isaac  Butt  —  All  wrong  —  A  danger- 
ous power. 

I  HAVE  hitherto  dealt  almost  entirely  with  my 
recollections  of  Ireland  and  Irishmen,  but  it  may  not 
be  uninteresting  if  I  insert  a  brief  account  of  my 
personal  experiences  in  a  science,  if  it  may  be  so 
called,  which  is  still  full  of  difficulty  and  mystery. 
I  have  ventured  to  call  it  a  science,  as  the  study 
given  to  it  in  recent  years  in  France  and  else- 
where has  led  to  a  greater  sense  of  its  importance 
than  formerly  existed.  I  refer  to  hypnotism,  or 
electro-biology,  as  it  was  called  when  I  first  experi- 
mented in  it,  from  its  supposed  connection  with 
electricity,  and  with  the  relation  of  electricity  to 
human  life. 

As  many  people  may  never  have  witnessed  the 
extraordinary  phenomena  connected  with  it,  or  may 
have  only  seen  them  at  public  exhibitions,  and 
consequently  believed  them  to  be  merely  the  result 
of  collusion  between  the  exhibitor  and  some  of  his 
audience,  I  will  give  some  instances  of  experiments 


302  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

I  myself  made  many  years  ago,  though  they  have, 
no  doubt,  been  frequently  repeated  since  by  others. 

It  was  over  forty  years  ago  that  my  attention  was 
first  called  to  the  subject.  I  happened,  when  in 
London  in  1851,  to  attend  a  public  exhibition  given 
by  a  man  named  Stone,  and  submitted  myself  as  one 
of  the  subjects  for  his  experiments.  I  found  he  was 
able  to  affect  me  to  some  extent,  though  only  as  far 
as  my  muscular  movements  were  concerned.  He 
could  not  get  further  than  preventing  me  from 
opening  or  shutting  my  eyes,  or  from  speaking 
without  stuttering;  but  a  friend  who  accompanied 
me  was  completely  under  his  control.  I  was  so 
much  interested  —  for  I  had  gone  believing  that  the 
exhibition  was  a  farce  —  that  I  called  on  Stone  a 
few  days  afterwards  to  see  whether  I  could  learn 
anything  from  him.  He  gave  me  a  lesson  in  his 
method  of  proceeding,  and  supplied  me  with  a 
number  of  small  discs  of  zinc,  about  an  inch  in 
diameter,  with  a  piece  of  copper  inserted  in  the 
centre.  One  of  these  was  placed  in  the  hand  of 
each  subject,  who  was  told  to  look  at  it  and  keep 
quiet  for  a  short  time.  The  supposition  was  that 
these  discs  had,  from  their  composition,  some  electric 
effect.  But  I  subsequently  found  that  they  were 
quite  unnecessary,  and  that  any  other  small  object 
would  do  as  well ;  in  fact,  in  some  cases,  especially 
where  the  conversation  had  been  for  some  time  on 


EARLY  EXPERIMENTS  303 

the  subject,  no  preliminary  preparation  at  all  was 
required. 

I  very  soon  afterwards  began  experimenting  on 
my  own  account.  My  usual  method  was  to  place 
one  of  the  discs  I  have  mentioned  or  any  small 
object  in  the  hand  of  each  of  the  persons  to  be  ex- 
perimented on,  and  to  ask  them  to  remain  quiet  for  a 
few  minutes — I  did  not  find  that  more  than  five 
minutes  was  ever  required  —  I  then  removed  the 
discs  and  told  each  subject  to  close  his  eyes,  and  to 
keep  them  closed  till  I  returned.  As  soon  as  I  had 
removed  the  disc  from  the  last  of  them,  I  returned 
to  the  first,  and  pressing  my  left  hand  on  his  head 
and  holding  his  hand  in  my  right,  I  said  to  him, 
"  You  can't  open  your  eyes ;  I  defy  you  to  open  your 
eyes."  If  he  opened  his  eyes  without  difficulty  or 
evident  exertion,  I  knew  at  once  he  would  not  make 
a  good  subject,  and  went  no  further  with  him.  I 
generally  found,  however,  that  out  of  a  dozen  per- 
sons, there  were  one  or  two  who  either  could  not 
open  their  eyes  at  all  or  did  so  with  much  difficulty. 
They  frequently  said  it  was  because  I  was  pressing 
my  left  hand  so  hard  on  their  foreheads.  In  such 
cases  I  at  once  repeated  the  experiment  without 
putting  my  hand  to  their  head,  but  still  holding 
their  hand  with  mine.  They  were  never  able  to 
open  their  eyes,  but  often  made  one  more  struggle, 
saying  that  it  was  my  holding  their  hand  which 


304  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

prevented  them.  I  then  repeated  the  experiment  a 
third  time  without  touching  them  at  all,  and  invari- 
ably with  the  same  result. 

I  next  went  on  to  other  experiments,  first  trying 
those  which  only  affected  their  muscular  action,  such 
as  preventing  them  from  opening  their  mouths,  and 
making  them  jump  or  stand  in  one  spot  as  long  as  I 
wished.  When  I  wanted  to  permit  the  subjects 
to  regain  their  freedom  of  will,  I  always  said  "  All 
right " ;  and  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  if,  when  they 
were  entirely  under  my  influence,  I  even  acciden- 
tally happened  to  say,  "  All  right,"  they  at  once 
recovered.  I  frequently  found  that  I  could  not  get 
beyond  these  muscular  effects,  but  over  the  best 
subjects  I  was  able  to  obtain  such  complete  mastery, 
that  they  at  once  saw,  believed,  and  did  anything  I 
suggested.  I  purposely  use  this  word,  for  I  found 
that  however  good  the  subject  or  complete  my  power 
over  him,  I  could  not  make  him  do  anything  with- 
out actual  verbal  suggestion.  I  have  repeatedly 
tried  with  the  very  best  subjects  to  affect  them  by 
the  power  of  my  will  alone,  and  never  with  the 
slightest  success.  How  great  this  power  of  sugges- 
tion was,  may  be  gathered  from  a  few  instances. 

Amongst  many  good  subjects,  whom  I  had  found 
soon  after  I  began  experimenting,  was  a  youth,  a 
nephew  of  Hackett,  the  well-known  fishing-tackle 
manufacturer  in  Cork.  I  had  been  talking  one  day 


SUGGESTION  305 

on  the  subject  of  electro-biology  to  Father  O'Sul- 
livan,  whom  I  have  already  mentioned  under  his 
name  of  Father  Rufus,  and  he  told  me  he  could  not 
believe  in  the  possibility  of  such  phenomena.  I  asked 
him  to  come  some  day  and  see  me  experiment  with 
this  youth.  A  few  days  afterwards  he  met  me  at 
TIackett's  house,  and  in  his  presence  I  made  the  boy 
imagine  he  was  a  dog  and  bark  ;  see  a  cherry  tree 
growing  out  of  the  table,  pluck  the  fruit  off  it,  and 
offer  it  to  us ;  and,  in  fact,  do  and  see  anything  I 
suggested  to  him. 

Father  Eufus  was  still  unconvinced,  and  evi- 
dently half  thought  that  there  might  be  collusion. 
He  asked  me  to  come  into  another  room,  and,  taking 
a  bottle  from  his  pocket,  said  — 

"If  you  make  him  drink  this  and  think  it  is 
delicious  cider,  I  shall  admit  that  there  is  something 
in  it." 

On  being  assured  by  him  that  the  contents  of 
the  bottle  were  perfectly  harmless,  I  emptied  it  into 
a  glass,  returned  to  the  other  room,  and  said  to  the 
lad  - 

"  I'm  going  to  give  you  the  nicest  cider  you  ever 
•drank.  Don't  drink  it  off  too  quickly,  for  it  is 
particularly  nice." 

He  sipped  it  with  the  greatest  delight  till  the 
glass  was  nearly  empty,  when  I  restored  him  to  his 
ordinary  senses  by  saying  "All  right."  His  gri- 


306  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

maces  were  wonderful  to  behold,  and  he  was  nearly 
sick.  Father  Rufus  was  absolutely  convinced.  He 
had  been  to  a  chemist  and  had  asked  him  to  prepare 
a  mixture  of  the  most  disgusting  and  nauseous,  but 
at  the  same  time  harmless,  drugs,  and  this  was  the 
stuff  which  the  unfortunate  youth  had  sipped  with 
such  evident  relish. 

I  have  often  given  subjects  a  piece  of  common 
yellow  soap,  telling  them  it  was  a  delicious  cake. 
They  always  showed  signs  of  the  greatest  enjoy- 
ment as  they  bit  off  a  piece  and  began  to  munch  it. 
I  took  care  before  they  had  time  to  swallow  any  of 
it  to  undeceive  them,  and  I  need  hardly  say  they 
never  showed  any  desire  to  swallow  it  after  the 
magic  words  "  All  right '"  were  spoken,  while  their 
grimaces  were  quite  as  amusing  as  those  of  the  youth 
in  Cork  when  he  drank  his  cider. 

Another  unbeliever  whom  I  converted  was  Isaac 
Butt.  He  and  two  fellow  barristers  were  at  the 
assizes  in  Cork,  and  came  out  to  spend  the  day  with 
me  at  Rathpeacon.  I  had  no  subjects  whom  I  had 
before  tried  at  hand,  so  in  the  evening  I  got  eight 
lads  who  had  been  at  work  on  the  railway,  which 
I  had  been  constructing  there.  After  the  usual  pre- 
liminary trials,  I  found  two  who  were  perfectly 
susceptible  to  my  influence.  I  made  them  go  through 
many  performances,  and  among  other  things  I  pre- 
vented them  from  picking  up  a  shilling  from  the 


A  SEVERE  TEST  307 

ground.  Butt  objected  that  I  might  easily  have 
promised  them  half  a  crown  not  to  pick  up  the 
shilling.  I  told  him  that  he  might  apply  any  test 
he  wished. 

"  Try  them,"  he  said,  "  with  five  pounds,  and  I'll 
believe  it." 

I  put  five  sovereigns  on  the  gravel  drive  where 
we  were  standing,  and  said  to  the  lads,  "  Boys,  you 
shall  have  those  five  sovereigns  if  you  can  take  them 
up;  but  your  fingers  cannot  go  within  an  inch  of 
them." 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  the  struggle  they  made, 
and  how  they  rooted  up  the  gravel  to  within  an  inch 
of  the  little  pile  of  money,  but  they  could  not  touch 
it.  To  complete  Butt's  conversion,  I  placed  the  five 
sovereigns  on  the  hand  of  one  of  the  lads,  and  said 
to  him  — 

"  If  you  keep  those  on  your  hand  for  three 
minutes,  you  shall,  on  my  word  of  honour,  have 
them  for  yourself." 

I  told  Butt  to  take  the  time  by  his  watch,  and 
then  said  to  the  boy,  "  They're  burning  your  hand  — 
they're  burning  a  hole  in  your  hand ;   if  you  keep 
them  any  longer  they  will  burn  a  hole  right  through 
your  hand." 

The  lad  began  blowing  on  his  hand  and  moving 

O  O  o 

the  coins,  as  if  they  were  burning  him,  and,  lonsr 

«/  o  o 

before  the  time  was  up,  flung  them  on  the  ground 


308  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

with  a  cry  of  pain.  Butt  all  the  time  had  been 
patting  him  on  the  back  and  telling  him  to  keep 
the  coins  for  it  was  all  humbug ;  but  the  answer 
was  — 

"  What  a  humbug  it  is !  Can't  you  see  my  hand 
is  destroyed  ?  Look  at  the  hole  in  it." 

I  have  recently  read  of  cases  where  a  subject  is 
said  to  have  been  affected  by  some  one  from  a  dis- 
tance, but,  in  those  cases  at  least  in  which  the  effect 
is  produced  by  a  telegram,  it  appears  to  me  to  be 
practically  nothing  more  nor  less  than  suggestion. 
I  have  myself  sometimes  made  suggestion  produce 
its  effect,  after  I  had  left  the  subject.  I  remember 
one  day  as  I  was  leaving  my  gate  lodge  to  walk  in 
to  Cork,  I  said  to  my  gatekeeper's  servant-girl,  who 
had  already  shown  herself  a  good  subject,  "  When  I 
pass  Ben  Deeble's  Mill,  your  eyes  will  shut,  and  they 
•will  not  open  again  till  I  come  home  from  Cork  in 
the  evening."  The  mill  was  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  down  the  road,  and  I  knew  that  curiosity  would 
make  her  watch  me  till  I  passed  it.  The  moment  I 
got  by  the  mill,  I  ran  back  to  the  lodge,  and  here  I 
found  the  gatekeeper  and  his  wife  endeavouring  to 
open  the  girl's  eyes,  which  were  shut  fast.  Their 
efforts  were  all  in  vain.  As  soon  as  they  raised  the 
eyelid  of  one  eye  and  turned  their  attention  to  the 
other,  the  one  they  had  opened  closed  again ;  and  I 
have  no  doubt,  if  I  had  not  intervened,  her  eyes 
would  have  remained  shut  till  the  evening. 


GOOD   SUBJECTS  309 

It  would  be  tedious  to  multiply  instances.  There 
was  absolutely  nothing  that  I  could  not  persuade 
a  person  once  under  control  to  do  or  see.  I  have 
made  a  lady,  who  had  the  greatest  horror  of  rats, 
imagine  that  my  pocket-handkerchief,  which  I  held 
rolled  up  in  my  hand,  was  one,  and  when  she  rushed 
away  terrified,  I  made  her  think  she  was  a  cat,  and 
she  at  once  began  to  mew,  seized  the  pocket-handker- 
chief in  her  teeth,  and  shook  it.  I  have  made  people 
believe  they  were  hens,  judges,  legs  of  mutton,  gen- 
erals, frogs,  and  famous  men ;  and  this  in  rapid 
succession.  Indeed,  so  complete  was  their  obedi- 
ence, that  I  have  again  and  again  refused,  when 
asked,  to  suggest  to  them  that  they  were  dead. 
I  was  really  afraid  of  the  result  that  might  possibly 
ensue. 

After  a  person  had  been  once  successfully  experi- 
mented on,  it  was  not  necessary,  except  possibly 
after  a  long  interval,  to  repeat  any  of  the  prelimi- 
naries. I  have  often  met  a  subject  days  and  even 
weeks  after  he  had  been  first  affected,  and  have 
found  him  at  once  under  my  control.  I  remember 
meeting  a  Mr.  D —  -  in  the  street  in  Cork,  and  after 
exchanging  a  few  words  of  ordinary  conversation,  I 
suddenly  said  to  him,  '•  Good-bye ;  you  can't  stir 
from  that  spot,  till  I  come  back ; "  and  there  he  was 
fixed,  in  spite  of  all  his  entreaties,  till  I  chose  to  let 
him  go,  which  I  did  in  a  minute  or  two,  when  I  saw 
passers-by  attracted  by  his  struggles  to  move  on. 


3io  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  fR/SH  LIFE 

It  might  be  supposed  that  such  experiments  might 
have  made  one  unpopular  with  those  affected ;  but  I 
always  found  that  so  far  from  diminishing  any 
friendly  feelings  that  existed,  they  appeared  to 
strengthen  them. 

Once,  and  once  only,  did  I  feel  myself  in  a  diffi- 
culty. I  had  made  a  cousin  of  mine  unable  to  speak 
without  stuttering.  To  my  horror,  the  magic  words 
"  All  right "  failed  to  produce  their  usual  effect,  and, 
in  spite  of  all  my  efforts,  I  could  not  restore  the 
power  of  speaking  properly ;  in  fact,  my  cousin  con- 
tinued to  stutter  more  or  less  for  some  weeks. 

I  gave  up  experimenting  long  ago,  and  from 
all  that  I  have  since  read  and  heard  on  the  subject, 
I  think  it  is  not  one  which  should  be  meddled  with 
except  by  those  who  are  really  investigating  it 
scientifically ;  for  as  I  learnt,  from  the  instance  I 
have  just  mentioned,  it  is  impossible  to  know  what 
may  occur;  and  although  the  effects  are  undoubt- 
edly very  amusing  to  watch,  they  may  possibly  be 
more  injurious  to  the  person  affected  than  they 
appear  to  be;  while  the  power  is  so  great  that  in 
the  hands  of  an  unscrupulous  person  it  might  be- 
come very  dangerous. 


CATHOLIC  EMANCIPATION  311 


CIIAPTEK  XX 

Catholic  emancipation,  1829  —  The  tithe  war  of  1832  —  The  great 
famine  of  1846  —  The  Fenian  agitation  of  1865  —  France 
against  England  —  Land-hunger — Crime  and  combination  — 
Last  words. 

As  I  have  passed  a  long  life,  well  over  seventy 
years,  almost  altogether  in  Ireland,  and  have  con- 
stantly come  in  contact  with  every  class  in  the 
country,  and  as  I  may,  I  think,  fairly  claim  to  have 
a  considerable  knowledge  of  its  people,  I  trust  I 
shall  be  excused  for  making  a  few  remarks,  before 
I  conclude  this  book,  on  the  present  state  of  affairs, 
as  seen  by  one  who  has  personally  observed  the 
many  agitations  and  the  many  changes  in  the  con- 
dition of  the  country,  which  have  occurred  since  the 
early  part  of  the  century. 

The  first  great  agitation  which  I  remember  was 
that  for  Catholic  emancipation,  which  was  granted 
in  1829  under  the  pressure  of  a  fear  of  an  Irish 
rebellion.  The  great  meetings  and  marchings  to 
which  I  have  already  referred,  had  led  the  Duke 
of  Wellington,  then  Prime  Minister,  to  fear  that 
Ireland  was  ripe  for  a  rebellion,  more  serious  than 
that  of  '98,  the  danger  and  bloodshed  of  which  he 


312  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

was  unwilling  to  face.  I  can  well  remember  the 
exaggerated  notions  the  peasantry  had  of  all  the 
benefits  they  were  to  derive  from  the  measure. 
Wages  were  at  once  to  be  doubled,  and  constant, 
well-paid  employment  to  be  given  to  every  man. 

My  father  and  mother  had  been  always  ardently 
in  favour  of  Catholic  emancipation,  and  were  de- 
lighted when  the  Act  was  passed.  On  the  night 
when  the  news  that  the  bill  had  become  law  reached 
our  part  of  the  country,  we  were  all  assembled  to 
see  the  bonfires  which  blazed  on  all  the  mountains 
and  hills  around  us,  and  I  well  remember  the  shout- 
ing and  rejoicings  on  the  road  that  passed  our  gate, 
and  the  hearty  cheers  given  for  us.  I  specially 
recollect  one  man,  a  farmer  named  James  Fleming, 
generally  known  as  Shamus  Oge  (Young  James), 
being  asked  by  some  one  in  the  crowd  what  eman- 
cipation meant.  "  It  means,"  said  he,  "  a  shilling 
a  day  for  every  man  as  long  as  he  lives,  whatever 
he  does."  The  ordinary  wages  of  the  labourers 
were  then  sixpence  a  day. 

We  little  thought  on  that  night  how  soon  we 
should  see  the  same  fires  lighted  all  around  us, 
when  any  of  the  clergy  near  us  had  suffered  out- 
rage, or  how  soon,  without  any  change  on  our  part, 
we  should  be  hooted  and  shouted  at  whenever  we 
appeared. 

It  is  now  nearly   forgotten   that  in   1825,   four 


THE   TITHE   WAR    OF  183*2.  313 

years  earlier,  a  bill  for  Catholic  emancipation  was 
passed  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  bill  by  virtue  of  which  the  Roman  Catholic 
priests  would  have  received  payment  from  the 
State,  and  been  made  entirely  independent  of  the 
voluntary  contributions  of  their  congregations.  One 
of  the  main  facts  that  has  to  be  borne  in  mind  by 
any  one  who  desires  to  judge  fairly  of  the  influence 
exercised  by  the  Roman  Catholic  priesthood  over 
their  people  in  any  great  crisis  is  this,  that  they  are 
so  entirely  dependent  for  their  sole  means  of  sup- 
port on  the  goodwill  of  the  people,  that  they  must 
always  to  a  greater  extent  than  is  desirable  follow, 
instead  of  lead,  those  over  whom  they  are  placed. 
If  this  bill  had  passed  into  law,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  the  whole  influence  of  the  Roman  Cath- 
olic priesthood  would  have  been  thrown  into  the 
opposite  scale  from  that  in  which  it  has  been  during 
the  last  fifty  years,  and  that  the  whole  course  of 
events  in  Ireland  would  have  been  very  different. 
The  bills  were,  however,  unfortunately  thrown  out 
by  the  House  of  Lords,  and  when  emancipation  was 
granted,  it  was  not  accompanied  by  the  other  meas- 
ure which  had  in  1825  been  joined  to  it. 

After  the  passing  of  the  Emancipation  Act  com- 
parative quiet  reigned  in  the  country  till  1832, 
when  the  tithe  war,  with  all  its  outrages,  began. 
This  agitation  was  carried  out  by  O'Connell,  on 


314  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

nearly  the  same  lines  as  that  for  emancipation,  and 
was  crowned  with  like  success.  But  the  abolition 
of  tithes  did  not  bring  to  the  peasantry  all  the  bene- 
fits they  expected ;  it  merely  changed  the  tithe  into 
a  rent-charge  payable  to  the  landlords,  who  were 
made  liable  for  the  payment  of  the  clergy. 

The  success  which  attended  the  agitations  for 
Catholic  emancipation  and  for  the  abolition  of  tithes 
-  which  success  was  in  large  measure  due  to  the 
fear  the  English  people  entertained  of  an  Irish  re- 
bellion—  led  O'Connell  to  commence  his  agitation 
for  the  repeal  of  the  union.  This,  however,  failed, 
and  its  failure  resulted  in  O'Connell's  fall. 

Great  meetings  had  been  held  all  through  the 
country,  at  which  O'Connell  and  others  had  used 
language  more  threatening  than  had  been  ventured 
on  in  the  former  agitations.  Encouraged  by  the 
non-interference  of  the  Government,  O'Connell  an- 
nounced that  a  monster  meeting  would  be  held  at 
Clontarf,  close  to  Dublin,  on  Sunday,  the  8th  of 
September,  1843. 

The  Government  determined  that  the  meeting 
should  not  take  place,  a  proclamation  was  issued 
forbidding  it ;  and  it  was  arranged  that  all  the 
leaders  of  the  agitation  should  be  arrested.  The 
duty  of  arresting  O'Connell  himself  was  assigned 
to  Colonel  Brown,  the  Chief  Commissioner  of  Police, 
whom  I  have  already  mentioned  in  connection  with 


THE  REPEAL  AGITATION  315 

my  only  attempt  to  enlist  in  that  force.  The  excite- 
ment was  intense ;  but  at  the  last  moment  O'Connell 
struck  his  colours,  and  issued  a  second  proclamation 
forbidding  the  people  to  meet.  I  was  at  Clontarf 
on  the  day  fixed  for  the  meeting.  Nearly  the 
whole  of  the  garrison  of  Dublin  —  horse,  foot,  and 
artillery  —  was  there,  but  no  meeting  was  held.  The 
subsequent  prosecution  and  imprisonment  of  O'Con- 
nell and  the  other  principal  leaders  put  a  complete 
stop  to  the  agitation ;  and  although  it  is  true  that 
their  conviction  was  shortly  afterwards  quashed, 
after  an  appeal  to  the  House  of  Lords,  O'Connell's 
power  was  gone  for  ever. 

Before  the  next  agitation  of  any  moment,  the 
great  famine  of  1846-7  occurred.  Up  to  that  time 
the  number  of  the  people,  and  their  poverty,  steadily 
increased,  and  the  first  change  for  the  better  in 
their  condition,  within  my  memory,  was  subsequent, 
and  in  a  great  measure  due,  to  that  terrible  afflic- 
tion. It  put  a  stop  in  some  degree  to  the  subdivision 
of  holdings,  which  had  been  carried  on  to  such  an 
extent,  that  in  many  parts  of  the  country,  the 
holdings  were  so  small  that  even  had  they  been 
rent  free  they  would  have  been  insufficient  for  the 
maintenance  of  their  occupiers.  It  forced  the 
people  not  to  depend  in  future  on  the  potatoes  as 
their  staple  food,  and  it  led  to  some  extent  to 
better  cultivation  of  the  soil.  The  famine  had  hardly 


3i 6  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

ended  when  Smith  O'Brien's  abortive  rebellion  oc- 
curred. Although  earnest  and  able  men  —  such  as 
O'Brien  himself,  Tom  Davies,  Meagher,  Mitchell, 
and  others  —  were  the  leaders  in  the  movement,  it 
was  an  almost  ludicrous  failure ;  the  hearts  of  the 
people  were  not  in  it,  and  the  Roman  Catholic 
priesthood  were  opposed  to  it. 

For  seventeen  years  after  this  time  no  agita- 
tion worth  recording  arose,  and,  with  the  exception 
of  some  isolated  outrages,  peace  prevailed  in  the 
country,  and  the  prosperity  of  all  classes  increased. 
Then  in  1865  the  Fenian  Society  came  into  exist- 
ence, and  continued  to  increase  in  power  and  in 
the  number  of  members  enrolled,  until  in  February, 
1866,  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act  was  suspended.  Im- 
mediately before  this  a  large  number  of  Americans 
or  Irish-Americans,  easily  recognizable  by  their 
dress  and  appearance,  were  to  be  met  walking  about 
the  streets  of  Dublin.  These  gentlemen  must  some- 
how have  got  a  hint  of  what  was  about  to  happen, 
for  on  the  day  before  the  suspension  of  the  Act  their 
sudden  disappearance  from  the  city  was  as  remark- 
able as  their  previous  appearance  there  had  been. 
This  conspiracy  was  not  completely  put  down  till 
March,  1867,  when  the  principal  Fenian  army 
succumbed  at  Tallaght,  a  few  miles  from  Dublin, 
to  twelve  men  of  the  Royal  Irish  Constabulary,  and 
smaller  risings  in  other  parts  of  Ireland  at  the  same 
time  were  easily  suppressed. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  TALLAGHT  317 

What  I  have  called  the  principal  Fenian  army 
was  in  reality  only  a  mob  of  half-armed  and  utterly 
undisciplined  Dublin  youths,  who  had  assembled 
near  this  village  of  Tallaght.  When  opposed  by 
the  small  force  of  constabulary,  who  fired  a  few 
shots,  they  retired  to  a  neighbouring  hill.  Many 
of  them  dispersed  during  the  night,  but  a  con- 
siderable number  remained  till  the  morning,  when 
they  surrendered  to  a  military  force,  and  were 
marched  into  Dublin.  I  did  not  myself  see  the 
prisoners,  but  I  remember  my  brother  telling  me 
how  he  had  seen  them,  so  tired  out  that,  wet  as  it 
was,  they  were  lying  about  on  the  ground  in  the 
Castle  yard.  My  brother's  pantry-boy  had  joined 
the  army,  but  was  one  of  those  who  escaped  being 
made  prisoner,  and  he  used  to  give  a  most  interest- 
ing account  of  the  Battle  of  Tallaght. 

The  agitation  for  Home  Rule,  begun  by  Isaac 
Butt,  never  appeared  to  me  to  have  any  reality 
in  it  until  Parnell  became  the  leader  of  the  move- 
ment. 

Looking  back  on  these  various  agitations  to 
which  I  have  briefly  referred,  it  appears  to  me  that 
none  of  those  which  appealed  merely  to  the  anti- 
English  sentiment  of  the  people,  ever  obtained  any 
real  hold  of  the  peasantry.  Those  which  did  succeed 
appealed  to  feelings  of  an  entirely  different  nature, 
and  aimed  at  the  abolition  of  some  religious  in- 


318  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

equality  or  some  pecuniary  burden,  and  there  are 
few  who  would  now  deny  the  justice  of  Catholic 
emancipation  and  of  the  abolition  of  the  tithe 
system  in  Ireland. 

I  do  not  mean  to  suggest,  by  what  I  have  just 
written,  that  the  anti-English  feeling  is  not  a  real 
thing.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  as  far  as  my  obser- 
vation goes,  a  very  deep  and  far-reaching  sentiment ; 
and  I  have  had  opportunities  of  forming  an  opinion, 
from  conversations  with  many  of  the  peasantry  in 
different  parts  of  the  country,  whom  I  have  known 
from  their  early  youth,  and  who  have  not  been 
afraid,  as  they  generally  are,  to  tell  the  real  feelings 
entertained  by  themselves  and  their  neighbours. 

Their  chief  hope  has  always  appeared  to  lie  in  a 
successful  rebellion,  by  the  aid  of  America,  or,  possi- 
bly, of  France.  Many  of  them  have  looked  forward 
all  their  lives  to  "  the  War,"  as  they  call  it.  It  is 
not  long  since  a  tenant  of  my  brother-in-law,  when 
on  his  death-bed,  said  to  him,  "  Ah,  yer  honour,  isn't 
it  too  bad  entirely  that  I'd  be  dying  now,  and  the 
War  that  I  always  thought  I'd  live  to  see  coming  so 
near  ?  "  The  strength  of  the  feeling  was  shown  by 
the  wild  burst  of  enthusiasm  in  favour  of  the  French 
at  the  beginning  of  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  when 
processions  marched  through  Dublin  and  other  towns 
in  Ireland,  with  tricolour  banners,  and  led  by  bands 
playing  the  Marseillaise.  This  sympathy  with  the 


SYMPATHY  WITH  FRANCE  319 

French  was  undoubtedly  due  to  the  tradition  of  the 
help  that  had  been  expected  from  France  in  1798,  and 
to  the  hope  that,  if  necessary,  help  against  England 
might  again  be  obtained  from  the  same  quarter. 

But,  strong  as  this  anti-English  feeling  is,  it  is 
not  in  it,  as  I  think,  that  the  real  strength  of  the 
agitation  of  the  last  fifteen  years  has  lain.  If  it  had 
been  founded  on  this  alone,  or  even  mainly  on  this, 
it  would  never  have  obtained  the  support  it  has 
obtained  from  the  people.  It  was  the  uniting  of 
the  Land  Question  with  the  agitation  for  Home  Rule 
which  really  roused  the  peasantry.  It  is  impossible 
for  any  one  who  has  not  resided  in  Ireland,  and 
been  on  intimate  terms  with  the  people,  to  realize 
the  intense  longing  which  animates  them  for  the 
possession  of  land,  no  matter  how  small  or  how  bad 
the  holding  may  be.  If  a  farm  was  vacant  o\ving 
to  eviction  of  the  tenant  or  otherwise,  there  were 
always  numbers  ready  to  compete  for  it,  and  willing 
to  pay  the  landlord  a  fine  for  its  possession,  far 
beyond  its  value.  They  would  often  borrow  the 
money  to  pay  this  fine  at  high  interest,  and,  in  most 
cases,  left  themselves  without  sufficient  means  to 
cultivate  the  land  properly.  To  this  land-hunger 
was  also  due,  to  a  great  extent,  the  subdivision  of 
farms,  which  was  so  ruinous  to  the  country ;  for  in 
former  days  the  father  of  the  family  thought  the 
best  way  he  could  provide  for  his  younger  sons  was 


320  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

to  give  each  of  them  some  portion  of  his  land.  I 
remember  numbers  of  instances  in  our  own  imme- 
diate neighbourhood  where  farms,  originally  large, 
were  divided  among  the  sons  of  the  tenants,  and 
subsequently  subdivided  again  and  again,  until  some 
of  the  holdings  became  quite  too  small  to  support  a 
family.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  bogs  these  sub- 
divisions were  more  numerous  than  in  other  places, 
the  reason  being  that  fuel  was  more  easily  and 
cheaply  obtained  there ;  in  most  cases,  indeed,  there 
were  rights  of  turbary  attached  to  the  holdings. 

This  anxiety  for  the  possession  of  land  is  no  doubt, 
as  has  often  been  pointed  out,  largely  due  to  the 
fact  that  Ireland  is  so  destitute  of  mineral  wealth 
that  there  has  been  comparatively  little  industrial 
development,  and  that  the  land  has  been  the  only 
resource  for  the  people,  but  I  am  sure  that  it  is  also 
an  innate  sentiment.  Any  one  who  once  grasps  the 
fact  that  this  land-hunger  does  exist,  and  realizes  at 
all  what  a  passion  it  is,  will  easily  see  what  an 
attraction  there  was  for  the  peasantry  in  the  hopes 
held  out  to  them,  that  by  joining  this  agitation  they 
would  ultimately  get  their  land  for  little  or  nothing. 
These  hopes  were  undoubtedly  fostered  by  the  Land 
Act  of  1881,  which  though  it  may  have  been  una- 
voidable, certainly  struck  a  fatal  blow  at  the  obli- 
gation of  contract  between  landlord  and  tenant. 

Hopes  of  this  kind  appeal  with  an  especial  force 


EXTRAVAGANT  HOPES  321 

to  an  excitable  and  highly  imaginative  people  like 
the  Irish.  It  is  scarcely  possible  to  believe  how 
extravagant  are  the  hopes  entertained  by  many  of 
the  peasantry  of  the  benefits  which  they  would 
derive  from  the  establishment  of  an  Irish  Parliament. 
Not  only  do  they  expect  that  after  a  short  time 
rent  would  be  enormously  reduced,  or  that  they 
would  become  proprietors  of  their  holdings  at  a 
very  small  price ;  but  many  of  them  have  the  most 
fanciful  ideas  as  to  the  immediate  advantages  that 
would  arise.  Many  believe  that  there  are  numerous 
mines,  and  coal-fields,  which  the  English  Government 
has  never  allowed  to  be  worked,  and  that  these  would 
greatly  enrich  the  country  ;  while  others  suppose 
that  wages  would  be  at  least  trebled,  and  abundance 
of  work  afforded  everywhere.  In  Dublin,  too,  there 
is  a  widespread  idea  that  the  city  would  be  greatly 
benefited,  as  all  the  nobility  and  gentry  would  again 
reside  there,  as  they  did  before  the  Union.  In  fact, 
it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  peasantry  at 
least  expect  that  there  would  be  "  a  plethora  of 
wealth,"  and  that  "a  pauper  population  would  roll 
in  riches."  No  reasonable  man  can  doubt  that  all 
these  hopes  would  be  disappointed,  except  possibly 
that  as  to  the  land,  which  might  indeed  be  realized, 
but  only  by  a  shameful  and  cruel  injustice  to  the 
landlords ;  and  the  inevitable  disappointment  would, 
it  can  hardly  be  doubted,  lead  to  a  condition  of 


322  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

discontent  greater  than  any  that  has  heretofore 
existed.  I  have  always  believed  that  it  is  the  Land 
Question  which  is  really  at  the  root  of  the  whole 
matter,  and  that  it  should  be  settled  by  some  system 
of  compulsory  purchase  to  be  determined  upon  and 
carried  out  by  the  Imperial  Parliament,  for  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  that  such  a  question  could  be 
really  fairly  dealt  with  by  a  body  of  men  elected 
almost  entirely  by  the  votes  of  one  of  the  parties 
to  the  dispute. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  effect  of  the  Union 
and  of  subsequent  legislation,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  the  general  condition  of  the  country  and  the 
peasantry  has  improved  in  every  respect  during  my 
lifetime.  I  cannot  speak  of  the  earlier  days  im- 
mediately following  the  Union ;  but  I  can  clearly 
recollect  what  the  country  was  over  sixty  years  ago 
as  compared  with  what  it  is  now,  and  the  improve- 
ment has  been  quite  as  great  as  the  most  sanguine 
could  have  expected. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  the  faction  fights  which 
were  common  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  which  have 
since  entirely  died  out,  although  in  some  few  places 
the  recollection  of  the  former  feuds  still  exists  and 
is  occasionally  the  cause  of  an  isolated  crime.  A 
curious  instance  of  this  was  mentioned  in  the  Irish 
newspapers  in  Sept.  1893,  an  affray  in  which  a 
man  was  killed  during  a  football  match  at  Cooga, 


IMPROVEMENT  OF  THE  COUNTRY  323 

in  the  county  of  Limerick,  being  attributed  to  the 
old  ill-feeling  between  the  "  three-year-old "  and 
"  four-year-old  "  factions. 

There  have  also,  unfortunately,  from  time  to  time 
been  serious  outbreaks  of  crime,  and  there  are  some 
parts  of  the  south  where  lawlessness  still  prevails  to 
a  lamentable  extent ;  but,  taking  Ireland  as  a  whole, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  peasantry  have  a  greater 
respect  for  the  law  than  they  had  in  my  early  days, 
and  that  the  country  is  more  peaceful  and  quiet. 
One  feature  which  distinguished  the  outbreak  of 
crime  during  the  late  land  agitation  from  any  that 
I  remember,  was  that  the  outrages  and  intimidation 
were  mainly  directed,  not  against  the  landlords  and 
agents  as  heretofore,  but  against  any  of  the  peas- 
antry who  broke  or  evaded  the  unwritten  law  of 
the  Land  League.  It  was  marked  by  a  far  greater 
amount  of  combination  than  ever  existed  before, 
and  it  was  by  this  combination  that  the  taking  of 
farms,  from  which  tenants  had  for  any  cause  been 
evicted,  was  so  effectually  prevented.  It  is  not  that 
the  desire  to  take  such  farms  is  less  than  it  ever 
was,  but  that  no  man  dare  take  one,  as  he  does 
so  at  the  risk  of  his  life. 

Not  long  since,  a  tenant  farmer,  who  punctually 
paid  his  rent,  complained  to  me  that  two  other 
tenants  of  the  same  landlord  were  allowed  to  hold 
their  farms,  although  they  were  drunken,  good-for- 


324  SEVENTY  YEARS  OF  IRISH  LIFE 

nothing  fellows,  and  bad  for  years  paid  no  rent 
at  all. 

"  Why  should  they  be  let  stay  there  ? "  he  asked 
indignantly. 

"What  possible  advantage,"  I  said,  "could  the 
landlord  gain  by  evicting  them  ?  for  neither  you  nor 
any  of  his  other  tenants  would  take  the  farms,  nor 
would  you  "  (for  I  knew  he  was  a  local  leader  of  the 
League)  "  allow  any  one  else  to  do  so." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh,  "  that's  the  law  of 
the  land." 

I  knew  that  if  he  dared  he  would  have  been 
only  too  glad  to  add  these  farms  to  the  one  he 
already  had,  for  he  was  a  hardworking  and  pushing 
man. 

The  drainage  and  cultivation  of  land  have  cer- 
tainly greatly  improved  during  my  lifetime ;  and 
so  have  the  dwellings  of  the  peasantry.  Large 
numbers  of  loans  for  drainage  and  other  land  im- 
provements have  been  made  by  the  Treasury  through 
the  Board  of  Public  Works,  and  it  is  satisfactory 
to  know  that  these  loans  have,  on  the  whole,  been 
advantageously  expended  and  are  being  honestly 
repaid. 

It  is  unfortunately  true  that  considerable  religious 
animosity  still  exists,  which,  though  dormant,  is 
ready  to  break  out  on  any  provocation ;  but  I  can- 
not see  how  these  feelings  would  be  at  all  mitigated 


HOPES  FOR   THE  FUTURE  325 

by  the  proposed  change  in  the  government  of  this 
country ;  in  fact,  it  appears  to  me  that  they  would 
undoubtedly  be  intensified. 

Looking  back  on  the  last  seventy  years,  and 
remembering  the  progress  that  Ireland  has  made, 
I  see  no  reason  to  despair  of  the  future  of  my  coun- 
try. Although,  during  the  first  five  and  thirty  years 
of  my  life,  there  was  comparatively  little  change 
for  the  better  in  the  condition  of  the  people,  since 
the  year  1850  it  has  vastly  improved.  Wages  have 
more  than  doubled;  the  people  are  better  housed, 
better  clad,  and  better  fed.  In  recent  years  this 
improvement  has  been  even  more  marked,  and,  if 
nothing  untoward  arises  to  retard  its  progress,  if 
(is  the  hope  too  sanguine  ?)  Ireland  can  cease  to  be 
"  the  battlefield  of  English  parties,"  it  will,  I  trust, 
ere  many  years,  be  as  happy  and  contented  as  any 
part  of  our  good  Queen's  dominions. 


THE    END 


THE  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF 

CHARLES   SAMUEL   KEENE 

OF  "PUNCH." 

BY  GEORGE  SOMERS  LAYARD. 

With  Portraits  and  over  Eighty  Illustrations.      Bound  in  buckram, 
gilt  top.     Royal  Svo.     $8. 

"  Among  the  documents  for  the  study  of  future  days  of  middle-class  and  of 
humble  English  life,  none  will  be  more  weighty  than  the  vivid  sketches  of  this  great 
humorist."  —  SIR  FREDERICK  LEIGHTON,  P.R.A. 

"  Mr.  Layard  has  brought  to  the  task  abundant  ability,  and  spared  no  pains.  It 
is  not  too  much  to  say  of  his  large  octavo  that  there  is  not  in  it  one  page  too  many, 
and  that  it  is  done  throughout  in  that  painstaking,  truth-loving,  and  racy  way  which 
is  always  the  highest  homage  to  the  worthy  dead,  and  which  none  would  have 
desired  more  than  CHARLES  KEENE.  .  .  . 

"  An  altogether  charming  memoir,  and  one  of  the  most  delightful  in  its  class, 
which,  by  the  way,  is  not  a  large  one. 

"  In  carefully  reproduced  examples  of  the  artist's  work,  the  volume  surpasses 
almost  anything  of  its  kind  we  have  seen."  —  Independent. 

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of  book-making,  appeals  directly  to  all  readers  of  refined  artistic  taste." — -Saturday 
Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 


LIFE  OF  GUSTAVE  DORE. 

With  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight  Illustrations  from  original 
Drawings  by  Dore. 

BY  TIIK  LATE  BLANCIIARD   JERROLD. 

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His  memoir  will  be  valued  for  the  portrait  which  it  gives  of  an  original  and  ambitions 
character.  The  book  is  copiously  illustrated  with  reproductions  of  drawings  by 
Dore,  only  a  few  of  which  have  hitherto  been  published."  —  tVeu'  York  Tribune. 


MACMILLAN    &   CO., 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW   YORK. 

CO 


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ROB  ROY Mr.  Lockhart  Bogle. 

OLD  MORTALITY         ....  Mr.  Frank  Dadd. 

THE  BLACK  DWARF   .         .         .        .  Mr.  Walter  Paget. 

THE  HEART  OF  MIDLOTHIAN     .         .  Mr.  William  Hole,  R.S.A. 

THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR     .         .  Mr.  John  Williamson. 

THE  PIRATE Mr.  W.  H.  Overend. 

THE  FORTUNES  OF  NIGEL  .        .        .  Mr.  Godfrey  Hindley. 

ST.  RONAN'S  WELL    ....  Mr.  Hugh  Thomson. 

WOODSTOCK Mr.  Stanley  Berkeley. 

QUENTIN    DURWARD  —  THE   TALISMAN          Mr.  II.   M.    Paget. 

REDGAUNTLET Mr.  George  Hay,  R.S.A. 

FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH         .         .         .         Mr.  Charles  Martin  Hardie, 

R.S.A. 

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WORKS    BY    MRS.    OL1PHANT. 

THE  MAKERS  OF  FLORENCE: 

DANTE,    GIOTTO,    SAVONAROLA,    AND    THEIR    CITY. 

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times  longs  to  write  when  he  or  she  visits  Florence  or  remembers  a  former  visit."  — 

THE  MAKERS  OF  VENICE: 

DOGES,   CONQUERORS,    PAINTERS,    MEN    OF   LETTERS. 

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reading  essays  of  times  and  men,  wherein  we  get  information,  without  the  slightest 
trouble,  from  a  guide  who  is  a  friend  if  not  a  philosopher."  —  Critic. 

ROYAL  EDINBURGH : 

HER    SAINTS,     KINGS,    AND    SCHOLARS. 

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Cloth,   $3.00. 
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could  make  more  of  the  picturesque  qualities  of  Edinburgh.  Nor  is  her  book  too 
strong  an  utterance  of  national  partiality."  —  Public  Ledger,  Philadelphia. 

JERUSALEM : 

THE    HOLY   CITY,   ITS    HISTORY   AND    HOPE. 

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telling  of  the  history  of  that  city  dear  to  all  who  love  the  Holy  Land  and  those  who 
made  it  holy."  —  Boston  Times. 


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THE 

MEMORIES  OF  DEAN  HOLE. 

With  Illustrations  from  original  sketches  by  LEECH  and  THACKERAY, 
and  a  Portrait  of  the  Author. 

New  Edition.     12010.     Cloth.    $2.25. 

"  The  Memoirs  of  Dean  Hole  is  as  thoroughly  readable  a  book  as  any  other 
volume  of  the  kind  that  has  recently  appeared.  It  is  wholly  enjoyable.  Every  page 
of  it  sparkles.  In  late  years  no  book  of  personal  reminiscences  deserves  higher 
praise  than  has  been  so  worthily  bestowed  upon  this  work.  '  The  holiday  task  of 
an  old  boy '  is  what  the  author  calls  it  in  the  preface,  and  the  description  is  apt. 
There  is  so  much  bubbling  good-nature  in  it,  so  much  of  the  joyousness  of  full  and 
hearty  life,  that  you  know  the  writing  of  the  book  must  have  been  a  pleasant  task." 

—  Cincinnati  Commercial  Gazette. 

"  A  glance  at  the  portrait  is  a  guarantee  that  one  is  not  to  be  disappointed  in  the 
matter  of  the  book,  which  touches  the  contemporaneous  life  of  England  at  a  variety 
of  points,  breezily  treating  of  prominent  authors,  artists,  and  clergymen  of  the 
generation  just  closing.  Dean  Hole  has  broad  sympathies.  A  lover  of  fields  and 
flowers,  he  brings  into  his  book  the  atmosphere  of  the  country  lanes  of  Old  England. 
Devoted  to  all  manly  sports,  he  writes  of  hunting,  of  rowing,  and  of  cricket,  —  even 
of  horseracing,  —  with  that  freshness  of  enthusiasm  one  would  expect  only  in  a 
youth."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  It  well  deserves  its  popularity,  for  there  have  been  few  books  which  combine 
more  pleasingly  the  charm  of  anecdotal  reminiscence  and  of  a  sincere  and  charming 
personality." — The  Outlook. 

"  The  more  of  such  men  as  Dean  Hole,  and  the  more  of  such  books  as  his 
Memories,  the  better  for  the  world." —  Congregationalist. 

"  It  is  not  saying  too  much  to  say  that  no  reader  who  opens  it  with  expectation, 
will  close  it  in  disappointment  before  the  last  page  is  reached.  The  homely  wisdom, 
diversified  experiences,  brilliant  culture,  and  delicious  humour  of  the  writer,  unite 
in  clothing  his  Memories  with  an  interest  occasionally  fascinating  in  its  intensity." 

—  Living  Church. 

"  There  breathes  through  the  charmingly  easy,  flowing,  rambling,  chatty  volume, 
a  spirit  of  broad,  cheerful,  hopeful,  and  helpful  humanity,  that  will  scarcely  fail  to 
make  every  generous  reader  love  the  cheery  and  bright-spirited  author."  —  Com- 
mercial Advertiser. 

"  The  book  is  sweetened  throughout  with  the  kindliest  humour  and  tolerance, 
and  the  writer's  reminiscences  of  those  with  whom  he  has  been  most  intimate,  of 
genial  John  Leech,  for  instance,  are  lit  with  sympathy  which  animates  his  style,  and 
are  not  without  the  finer  touches  and  shadings  of  verbal  portraiture."  —  The  Dial. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


DISCHARGE 
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APR  1  0 1978 


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UCLA-College  Library 

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